


Moksha

by sherlockfan



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Character Study, First Time, Fix-It, M/M, Meditation, Philosophical Discussions, Post-His Last Vow, Post-Season/Series 03, Self-Discovery, Sherlock's Violin, Sherlock-centric, post-S3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-16
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-07 19:10:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 132,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3179897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockfan/pseuds/sherlockfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"My brother has the mind of a scientist or a philosopher. What might we deduce about his heart?"</p><p>Moksha a.k.a. Freedom..... a journey in Self discovery</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Nadir- an Opportunity

**Author's Note:**

> Because I love the possibility and potential of Sherlock............

Sherlock stomped his feet outside 221B, trying to get rid of some crusted dirt on his shoes as he let himself in. He waited to let Mrs Hudson in, before closing the door behind them. It smelt stale in there, but at least it was warm and dry.

“Well, that was a long day, wasn’t it, Sherlock?” she said, taking off her coat and hooking her shoes off. “They looked so happy. Mary was in labour for so long. And John – good God, his face when the baby was born! And she is darling, wonder what they will name her? They are going to be so busy with a baby at home. My mum always used to say, life is never the same, they come into your life and keep you busy for the next 18 years!” She glanced up at Sherlock, who was standing near the banister with his hands in his coat pockets, a resigned, polite look on his face,…. _God, she has been prattling about the same things for half an hour…._  “Well, you best have some rest, it has been a very long day,” she repeated and turned away.

Upstairs, Sherlock wasted no time, shedding his clothes ( _smell of disinfectant, hospital, baby….),_ stepped into a hot shower, trying to wash off the day. He stood under the hot jets, head tilted up, face lax, eyes closed, and finally let a deep, shivering breath out. 19 hours in the fucking hospital……waiting, trying to keep his act together, trying to  _be there_ for John. Waiting for the birth of a baby, who seemed to mock any hope he had of having his old life back, him and John, against the world....  John, who had moved on, who had chosen Mary, who was  _not gay_ , who still nursed anger and mistrust towards Sherlock, who had looked so happy at the wedding, who had forgiven Mary… All his work, his two years away fighting, struggling, running, scars bearing testament to his multiple injuries….He did it all for John, only to find upon his return, that not only had John moved on, but everything he had done was undermined and brushed aside in a blaze of self righteous fury.

But at least John was safe and happy, that should be enough,  _shouldn’t it_? 

What was he supposed to do, Sherlock?

He was a father now, Mary undoubtedly loved him, enough to shoot Sherlock to keep their marriage alive… the only option really… what any man would do, did you really expect him to leave his wife and child and climb into bed with you… move back to Baker Street…..I am happy that he is happy… that is the right sentiment…  _sentiment_ … when did I become  _sentimental_?.... What’s wrong with me…get a grip…. picket fence and daughter and Mary and suburbia and neighbours and neighbourhood parties and  having sex with Mary,  and birthday parties and picnics and PTA meetings and domestic bliss and..…. How can he stand this? This mind numbing tediousness of a structured life, how to people live like this… how can this be his choice? He will have no time, no time for cases, and danger, and adventure, and smirks at crime scenes, and laughter after successful chases and nagging Sherlock to eat and sleep…. No more  _that was amazing_ ’s…. no more, no more… emptiness, ennui, purposeless bloody life….wanting the unattainable, stop it,  _just STOP IT_ …

Sherlock was nothing if not aware; he was aware of the compulsive, repetitive,  _pointless_ thoughts that seemed to have taken over his normally structured mind ever since he had returned from the dead.  Ever since he realized the reorientation of his place in John’s life. A daily struggle of living on, making do, unable to function at the giddy intellectual heights he was used to. When there was a case on, it distracted him; his focus shifted to the job at hand as he bent his considerable intellect to solving it, clutching at it even more desperately than he had before. But afterwards, it was the same-- thinking, agitating, pacing, fighting a losing battle against frustration, anger and self-pity.  _Loneliness…_

Head bowed now, chin to chest, he thought ,”I’m so tired, so  _tired_ … so sick of this,” this cataclysm of emotions, stringing him along like a yo-yo, somehow managing to strangulate his entire reason, gripping and squeezing, until sometimes, frighteningly, rational thought became close to impossible. He was a devotee of logic, science, rationality.

“This is not who I am,  _this cannot go on._ ”

He suddenly had had enough.

He straightened his head, arms outstretched, palms pressing on the tiles in front of him and ordered himself, “Stop.” Just one more concession, he wished to allow himself. Concentrating on emptying his mind, he methodically started closing all the open windows on the monitor of his mind. Close, close, close…. Empty,  empty,  empty.

Slowly he focused  on his body. Muscles taut with tension, face held in a permanent blank grimace lest his actual emotions spill over. He instructed his body to relax, to let go. He felt the jets of water beating on his head, his shoulders, finding its way down his body and pooling under his feet. Flexed his hand to feel the texture of the tiles, flared his nostrils to smell the aroma of soap and dampness. Just one more concession….. as he let himself  _feel_. Pain, anguish, hurt, anger, jealously, envy, frustration, confusion….. and channeled it through himself, and let the tears flow, let the sobs wrack his entire body. He did not bother to stifle the sounds, the hitches of breath.

Several minutes passed, he cried. He waited patiently for the torrent to subside. As the tears slowed down and the breathing settled, he struggled to not succumb to exhaustion. And then very deliberately, he whispered to the closest thing to a deity he knew… his own self, the titanium core he knew he possessed, “Please, _please_......” not quite sure what he was asking for, knowing however that it will be granted. And slowly the tears stopped, the back straightened. He turned off the shower and dried himself briskly. He looked at himself in the mirror as he wiped his face, eyes red rimmed but clear, jaw set with a stern determined expression.

He told himself softly, “Welcome back.”                                                                                                             

 ***

 

 

An hour later, Sherlock Holmes was lying down on the sofa, fingers steepled under his chin, head relaxed and resting on the armrest. The posture helped him, his subconscious recognized it as his thinking pose and found no difficulty in focusing meditatively inwards.  He closed his eyes and started thinking.

 **Fact** : John was married with a child, happily married and very unlikely to return to Bakers Street. He has made his peace with what he wanted in life. Sherlock was no longer a priority.

 **Fact** :For all the difference it made the last 5 years may as well have not happened, he was back here. Alone.

 **Fact**  : No, not alone. He had learned that he had people who cared about him. Mycroft, Mrs Hudson, Molly, Lestrade, and yes John and Mary.

 **Fact** : He was grieving the loss of his life with John. He was sick of the grief. Any romantic involvement with John was a fantasy, both because John was  _not gay_  and he was married.

 **Fact:**  London, solving puzzles, challenging his mind still held the same allure it always had. But now, they were no longer enough. He had glimpsed contentment ( _of sorts_ ) and wanted it again.

 **Fact** : He had been secretly miserable since his return, had second guessed himself all the time, was teetering at the precipice of depression and the brink of giving into drugs.  _Have given into them a few times,_ he reminded himself _._

He allowed his neurons to wrap themselves around the facts, methodically, logically as he tried to find a solution. The house was silent, the room pleasantly warm, as Sherlock wriggled his frame to a more comfortable position to continue reflecting on this conundrum.

Several minutes later, he woke up with a gasp. Before his mind had caught up to his waking state, his lips parted as he whispered, “Oh…. Of course, Kesh.” It was the work of a moment to spring out of the sofa and retrieve his mobile from the table. _Stupid, stupid_ …. Why had he not thought of Kesh through all this? Kesh used to say, “When a situation is unacceptable and out of one’s control, the only way ahead is a change of attitude.” Well, his subconscious seemed to have provided the solution during his power nap. 

He closed his eyes and mentally raced through the corridors of his mind palace. Swerving into his India wing, he ran up the stairs to reach Kesh’s room. He found the note with his phone number and raced out again.

_When sentiment is ruining your life, how do you deal with it?-- SH_

He sank down in his chair this time, tapping his phone to his lips absent-mindedly. He allowed his mind to saunter back to Kesh’s room. It has been a long time…. I should have thought of him straightaway. How much out of it have I been, wallowing in self pity? He sat down on the divan sofa he had decorated Kesh’s room with.

And waited.

He came back to the buzzing of his phone, signaling an incoming message-

_The only way to overcome attachment, is to take it out of you and examine it impersonally, with detachment, from a higher vantage point. Once the intellect starts its logical discriminative process, it fades away -–Hrishikesh_

Sherlock read the text, brow furrowed as he thought intensely. His eyes darted around as he dissected the nuances of what Kesh had just said. A slow smile started nudging his lips.

_I have missed you, but I haven’t, you know?-- SH_

Seconds later-

 

_I know. And I have missed you. Any chance of coming over here? – Hrishikesh._

_Let me think about it--SH_

_I will always wait for you, Sherlock. Say Hello to Mycroft, from me- Hrishikesh._

_How did you know I was going to call him?-- SH_

_I know **you**_   _\-- Hrishikesh_

The half sob, half chuckle that escaped Sherlock sounded loud in the flat and nearly startled him.  Leaning forward, elbows on his knees, he let his head fall forward and felt amazed at as tears fell out of his eyes, trickling down the angle of his nose, perched precariously over the tip as eventually they fought the losing battle against gravity and splashed down. Gosh, when was the last time he had felt this….hopeful?

On a roll now, he quickly typed- 

 _John and Mary had a baby daughter today. Mother and baby are fine. John is ecstatic-- SH_  

And  pressed 'Send'.

A minute later, the phone buzzed-

_ETA 40 minutes- MH_

Smiling now, Sherlock wiped his face with his hands and leaned back, lassitude having claimed every muscle. Normally this degree of laxity occurred only after masturbation. Mentally shrugging his shoulders, he closed his eyes and gave himself up to sleep.

 

 

                                                              ***

 The sleek unmarked black car, slowly turned into Bakers Street. Mycroft clutched the handle of the bag containing chicken biryani and tawa chicken, in readiness to leave. The tantalizing aroma enveloped the car interior.

It had been 35 minutes ago that his phone had buzzed with Sherlock’s incoming message. Mycroft had read it with wonder- an unsolicited message about trivial banality, without hostility, and not asking for Mycroft’s help….. the last time it had happened was well over 6 years ago. Sherlock had become clean of drugs and before he started working for the Met. They had spent the evening together, talking, communicating. Sherlock being open, _himself_. Mycroft cherished the memory of that evening and it had kept him going through the past 6 years.

For many months now, he had been forced to stand by and watch, as his once proud brother slowly disintegrated, defeated by sentiment. Each time he saw him, his body seemed to be pulled tauter, tightness around his eyes, as if he were holding himself together by the sheer force of his indomitable willpower. It was obvious to anyone who cared to observe, but that was the problem wasn’t it? People either do not observe or are too self-immersed to care.

God knew, John Watson was a good man but Mycroft resented how Sherlock’s association with him had shaped the past three years of his life and taken so much from him. He hadn't been able to bring himself to attend John’s wedding. The very prospect of celebrating the union, that would put the final nail in the coffin of a future his brother envisaged and had sacrificed so much for, made him want to upchuck.

And now this…. A cry for help? A desire to share? A new turn on life’s road?

He stepped out onto the curb, barely able to wait as the car slowed down and gestured his driver to leave. He opened the front door with his keys and climbed upstairs.

Sherlock was lying on the sofa, eyes closed, body lax. “Mycroft,” he murmured and slowly opened his eyes to look at his brother. Mycroft stood at the threshold, taking in his appearance. He could not remember the last time his brother had looked this……..serene, relaxed.  Face inviting, beautiful eyes focused on Mycroft, burning as they reflected the unmatched brilliance of their owner’s mind.  It occurred to Mycroft with the sudden jolt of an epiphany, that this,  _this_  is probably what nature was aiming at with evolution; a body of such perfect beauty and form and a razor sharp rational intellect.

Shaking himself mentally, he moved to the kitchen. “I’ve brought Indian food.”

“Indeed, the smell woke me… it’s good.” Sherlock followed him to the kitchen and they moved in harmony to get plates and cutlery.

For a while no words were spoken, none necessary, as they sat on the kitchen table eating in companionable silence.

“Scotch?” Sherlock’s voice broke the quiet after they had finished.

“Yes, thank you.”

They retired to the armchairs, moving them so that both could watch the fire-place but angled slightly so that they could look up at each other.

Several moments of quietude followed. Mycroft felt peaceful, attuned for once at Sherlock’s wavelength, unwilling to break the harmony of shared food, drink, minds.

After what could be minutes or hours, Sherlock got up and fetched his phone. Scrolling down till he reached recent texts, he then handed the phone to Mycroft.  

Mycroft accepted the phone with raised eyebrows, without saying a word. He read the texts, let them percolate through his brain, pulling various threads together.

“The lost month in India?” he finally asked Sherlock.  An approving look came on Sherlock’s face. That was the wonder of talking with Mycroft, one did not need to spell things out.

“Yes.”

More quiet ensued, each lost in their thoughts.

Mycroft remembered it well….

News of Sherlock’s capture outside Lahore, the frantic evacuation to Delhi, doctors reports:  _fractured ribs, haemopneumothorax, acute respiratory distress, need to put chest drain, will be put on a ventilator to help him breathe, grade two concussion, blood loss due to blunt force trauma to the abdomen, lacerated liver, emergency partial hepatic resection…_

48 hours of vigil at an unconscious Sherlock’s bedside, four more days before he was off the ventilator and start moving around; arguments about the insanity of continuing to pursue Moriarty’s network, Sherlock’s adamant assertions that he needed to pursue Moran, the need to go to Serbia as soon as he could, to finally eliminate all threats to John…. Mycroft for the first time in his life shouting at Sherlock, Sherlock’s stubborn response…..                                                                   

And the next day, Sherlock was gone. Despite moving heaven and earth and with all his considerable resources, Mycroft could not find him. Ten days later, a single untraceable message on his mobile-

_I am fine . Will finish the job and come home soon-- SH_

Finally, Mycroft’s men were able to pick up Sherlock’s trail 27 days later in Kathmandu, Nepal. He then made his way to Serbia and did manage to finish the job.

Mycroft let the silence stretch, unwilling to disturb Sherlock’s line of thought. He wondered if Sherlock would elaborate as he waited patiently. Abruptly, Sherlock got up again from the chair, moving towards the kitchen.

“Refill?” he asked.

“Thank you, yes.”

Nursing his second tumbler of 18 year old Scotch, he waited. Sherlock seemed to be making up his mind and Mycroft was happy to wait.

“I went to Rishikesh. I had a nebulous idea of disappearing somewhere in the communities at the foothill of the Himalayas. I was waiting for some food at an eatery, standing out on the road, amongst throngs of public and then I just  _collapsed_. Next thing I knew, I had woken up at Kesh’s house. I stayed with him for twenty-four days. He got me the medical assistance I needed, sheltered me, let me rest, fed me, talked to me….  _he saved me....._ ”

Sherlock’s voice trailed off as he lost himself to memories.... 

_I need to go back, Kesh. I have to finish what I started._

_If you feel so strongly that you must, then go ahead. Always follow your convictions. If you win, then you will have achieved what your heart desires. If you lose, you may have learned something important about yourself. If you have the right attitude every situation is a win-win. Bear in mind, the outcome may or may not be everything that you want. When you decide to come back, I’ll be waiting for you._

_You mean IF I come back_

_You will, my friend..... you will._

_He remembered Kesh's smile as he sent him on his way, full of confidence and understanding._

 

After a while, Mycroft said, “Tell me more." His voice pulled Sherlock out of his reverie.

“His name is Hrishikesh,” he said softly. “He saved my life, Mycroft. More than that, he saved me. Everything was so abysmal, I had thought of just giving up. Kesh kept me going. I wish you could have met him. You and I..... we are brilliant, but he is something more.....he is sagacious.”

Mycroft looked intrigued. “What does he do?”

“He is a scientist, a physicist to be more precise, does some sort of consulting work with CERN.”

“Higg’s boson?”

“No, dark energy research actually. I did not have the luxury of going into details then.”

Mycroft hesitated, wondering if he was about to cross a line. Sherlock observed his brother squirming. He smirked, “Out with it, Mycroft.”

“Were you …. _intimate_?”

.With a deep breath, Sherlock steepled his fingers, “More intimate, than I have ever been with anyone.” At Mycroft’s raised eyebrows, he continued, “Not in a sexual way, although things were progressing in that direction by the time I left. No, it was the rare intimacy born of understanding, without pretense or prejudice. And of course, for the first week, Kesh and Haridas, his man servant were nursing me. They were reluctant to let the locals know of my presence, for my own safety. Sponge baths, peeing in jars, washing my behind after I’d evacuated my bowels, chest physiotherapy, assisted feeding and the like.” Sherlock waved a vague hand.

Mycroft tried to imagine a Sherlock so weakened, his jaw clenched. A sense of immense relief surged inside him. Whoever this Hrishikesh was, he owed him a deep debt of gratitude.

“Have you been in touch with him all this while?”

“No. Kesh is like me in that sense. Neither of us are the sort to _keep in touch_ and exchange banalities”

Sherlock stood up from his chair and neatly folded himself to sit cross-legged near Mycroft. His eyes were calm and a trifle unfocused, still lost in thought. 

After some time, Mycroft put his hand on Sherlock’s head and stroked his hair. “And now what?”

Sherlock sighed after a while. "I want to go, I feel I  _have_  to."

Mycroft’s hand stilled. He tugged at the hair gently, angling Sherlock's head till it faced him. His voice was solemn, “Then that is what will happen. I will have Anthea make the arrangements. Where will you have to fly to? When would you like to leave?”

“New Delhi. Then Dehradun. And then a car to Rudraprayag. It is at the foothills of the Kedarnath peak of the Himalayas.”

“Is that where he is?”

“Yes. And, tomorrow, Mycroft. I need to leave soon, I need to see him as soon as possible.”

“I’ll arrange it.”

Mycroft leaned forward to press a kiss on Sherlock's forehead. He felt Sherlock's smile against his cheek.

“Would it be running away?” Sherlock asked.

“I don't know. Would it?”

“I need to do something. This _can’t_ go on. _That way madness lies; let me shun that. No more of that_ ,” Sherlock murmured quietly.

With a deep sigh, Sherlock lay his head on one of Mycroft’s knees, one hand clutching a pant crease like a child. He stayed motionless for a long time, in silent reflection, allowing Mycroft to continue stroking his head. 

                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

 

                                             To be Continued............

 


	2. Prarambh- The beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the interests of cohesion, most of my Indian characters will magically speak English:-)
> 
> Also, "Bhaiyya" is a respectful term to address anyone who is like an older brother.
> 
>  
> 
> \---------------------------------------------

It was late morning when Sherlock’s flight landed at New Delhi airport. As he left the airport to get into the shuttle bus for transfer to the domestic terminal, the sun’s rays reflected off his sun glasses, and seemed to scorch his very skin. Grateful that he had thought to change into linen trousers and a T-shirt, he looked around and took in the droves of people everywhere.

Yes, it seemed to be exactly as he remembered it. Bursts of color everywhere, a cacophony of sounds, smells of tantalizing food and accumulated rubbish existing side by side, smiling faces, loud voices. The heaving rhythm of life in India.

The flight was full, as every possible mode of transport in India always was. It was a smaller aircraft and Sherlock sat at his window seat, next to an old Indian lady, in a traditional sari. He spared her barely a glance, but took it all in just the same. _Around seventy, first time flying, anxious, housewife, diabetes, going to meet son?_

As the pilot was taxiing for takeoff, she brought out a rosary bead and seemed to start praying. But there was no concentration in her prayer, as her wide anxious eyes looked around. Seeming to settle on a decision, she inched her elbow towards Sherlock’s on the hand rest between them. Sherlock turned his head and looked towards her blankly. He wondered what her thoughts might be, looking at a tall pale foreigner with gray eyes and a forbidding expression.

He observed the plea in her gaze and found himself doing the unexpected. He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile and presented his left hand, palm up in invitation. She smiled gratefully and clasped it firmly in her own small frail one and squeezed and did not let it go until they were well at cruising altitude. Sherlock allowed her to hold his hand, squeezing periodically when he felt it tremble. When she did let go, she smiled shyly.

She opened her purse to retrieve a round stainless steel container, with what looked like rotis stuffed with something and with an alarming amount of butter on top and another small container of pickles.

She extended her hand mutely to offer the food to Sherlock. A sudden wave of forgotten memories hit Sherlock, from his last stay here. This too, was as he remembered it. The effortless hospitality and kindness. He had found it so easy to just be himself, unencumbered by etiquette.

With a warm smile, he accepted a quarter of the roti and made appreciative sounds as he chewed.

He allowed her to hold his hand during the descent as well.

 

                                                          ***

 

The soft glow of a table lamp was all that lit Mycroft’s office. The surrounding darkness cast moving shadows as he shifted in his chair to get more comfortable. He sat in his shirtsleeves, with a small glass of sherry next to him. He had been working ceaselessly for two hours now, on the draft proposal for immigration reform that was to be tabled in Parliament the next day.

He rubbed his face with weary hands and sat back into the chair, letting his shoulders slouch a bit. _Dear Lord....I feel so tired. Hope he is doing the right thing. I just want him to be happy......Sherlock, my dearest....._

Earlier, despite his many commitments, he had accompanied Sherlock in his ride to the airport. The atmosphere in the car had been quiet and companionable.

_“Keep an eye on Mrs. Hudson and John for me, Mycroft. And I would prefer you do not investigate Kesh, but should you choose to do so, I do not want to know about it.”_

_Mycroft inclined his head slightly to show he understood, “Will you stay in touch?”_

_“I will let you know that I've reached safely. Beyond that, we shall see. Leave me alone, Mycroft, I do not want your lackeys trailing me. Let me be, otherwise the purpose of this visit is not served.”_

_They looked at each other for a while, affection and antagonism sparring for supremacy. It was hard for Mycroft to acquiesce with Sherlock’s request, the need to control and to protect, where his little brother was concerned, was far too entrenched in him and for too long._

_Finally, as they parted, he gave Sherlock’s hand a reassuring squeeze and took in his fill of Sherlock’s face and watched as the most important person in his life walked away._

The sharp, rhythmic clicking of high heels brought him back to the present. He looked up to watch Anthea walk into the office. She looked as put together at midnight, as she did first thing in the morning. With a small smile, she walked in and sat down across the table from Mycroft.

“Sherry?” he asked.

“Yes, thank you.”

As he stood up to fill another crystal glass, she opened the file on her lap, in preparation to giving him her report. The first instruction he had given him that morning was to make arrangements for Sherlock, the second-- was a priority one investigation into a Mr. Hrishikesh from India.

She watched as he settled into his chair calmly, waiting.

She began without preamble. “Hrishikesh Yadav. 28 years old. Single child of industrialist parents; Orphan; Parents killed instantly in a car crash when he was 11 years old; Is a consultant to CERN; Runs his own team over there; Travels to both Europe and America, about twice a year. He is involved in a lot of charitable works, but not affiliated to any known charity. Anecdotal evidence suggests he is responsible for the building and maintenance of several schools, hospitals and old age homes in Uttaranchal, a state in North India where he resides. No political affiliations. Owns several factories, diverse portfolio, mainly dairy, some manufacturing, and agriculture.”

She paused and waited for Mycroft to look up. Her eyes flashed with meaning as she continued.

“And, Sir…….he is _rich_.”

Mycroft who had been listening intently so far, found himself raising his eyebrows at her emphasis. 

So far, nothing she had said conformed to what he had imagined. Given Sherlock’s inclinations, he was fully prepared to hear about a bohemian Indian person, unconventional enough to have caught his brother’s eye, spouting new age nonsense, making Sherlock think he was _sagacious_. Or perhaps, someone like John; quiet, unassuming, with a load of hidden character, who had stoically looked after an unwell Sherlock. While he had been listening to Anthea his mind was struggling to rearrange the presumptions he had made about the unknown Hrishikesh.

He leaned forward to pick up the folder she held out.

“These are a summary of his financial holdings and current records. Our operative was keen to point out that he may have barely skimmed the surface, given the limited time he had been allotted for his task. He was also keen to pass on the overall impression he had. That of a person who was held in _very_ high regard in that part of the world.”

Several moments passed in silence, as Mycroft’s busy eyes scanned the report, his intelligent mind parsing through the details quickly. His eyebrows had raised themselves to new heights. When he was done, he looked up at Anthea, his expression one of suppressed delight.

She asked, “Does Sherlock know?”

“He didn’t mention it, though for Sherlock money has never been a note worthy factor.”

“Right. Well one last thing, Sir. Our operative found it extraordinarily difficult to get any photographs of Mr. Hrishikesh, but just an hour ago he somehow managed to track down a picture taken during an Indian wedding that he attended 2 years ago. The image quality is poor, Sir,” said Anthea as she passed on a glossy photograph paper to Mycroft.

The picture quality was grainy. There were typical flower arrangements and vibrant colored materials all over. In the midst of this was a tall, distinguished young man, wearing a deep burgundy bespoke Indian suit, head angled slightly to lend attention to what another man in his fifties was saying to him. The photograph captured well the confident stance, one hand in his trouser pocket, the other nursing a drink; the smooth brown  skin, long aristocratic nose, locks of dark shoulder length hair seemed to sway over a high forehead; a forehead that had a straight crimson marking, typical of Indian festivities. But it was the mischievous glint in the dark bewitching eyes and a seductive smile which produced dimples on both cheeks that were the arresting features.

He was _stunning_.

Mycroft stared at the picture for a long time, before he finally let out his breath in a rush. Anthea, used to her employer’s moods, was silent, until he looked up to her. “Indeed,” she said cryptically when she noted the dazed look and then burst out laughing, giving way to her joy at seeing the happy stunned expression on his face.

Suddenly restless, Mycroft needed to move, as if a surge of energy was charging through his body. He leaped up and went towards the window staring out in the dark night with unseeing eyes, needing to turn away and have a moment to himself. _Oh dear brother....could it be....I hope that it is....you deserve some happiness....Oh Sherlock...._

He finally turned to Anthea, who was still smiling with vicarious joy. He let out a shuddering sigh, his voice was a hushed whisper full of hope, “It appears my brother may have found someone worthy of him after all….” And matched her smile with a delighted grin.

                                                          ***

 

“Sherlock Sir, Sherlock Sir,” came the repeated shouts as a short stocky man ran towards Sherlock outside Jolly Grant Airport at Dehradun. People passing by, strained their necks to find the owner of this unusual name being called out so enthusiastically.

Sherlock turned towards the voice, and nodded in acknowledgment, “Vedant!”

Vedant leaped forward and grabbed Sherlock’s hand and pumped it up and down vigorously in greeting, a beaming smile on his pudgy face. For the second time that day, Sherlock felt his face break out into a spontaneous grin. It was hard not to smile when a pygmy sized plump man is dancing all around you, looking for all the world as if he had an imaginary tail wagging behind him.

He took the suitcase from Sherlock and put it in the car boot.

The words came out in a familiar enthusiastic torrent. “Sir, how are you? I have been waiting for so long. I came _two_ hours ago. Hrishikesh bhaiyya told me very sternly that on no account should I be late in picking you up.  He is sorry he could not come personally, but he will be at home by the time we reach there. Are you hungry? Would you like to eat something before we leave? There is a landslide near Devprayag, so we will take at least six hours to reach there.” Finally it seemed he had run out of breath, as he paused. 

“Let us just find some fruit on the way. And try and get there as soon as possible.”

“Sir, Haridas has already packed fruit and cold drinks. He knew you would not eat anything else. I will drive Sir, you can sit in the back seat and sleep if you need to.”

Shaking his head in bemusement, Sherlock got into the car. Vedant, indeed India seemed unchanged and timeless. Now that his destination was so near, he could not help but feel his anticipation rising. His stomach lurched suddenly at the thought of seeing Kesh, wondering what his friend thought of all this.

 

                                                ***

 

“The doctors have done their final checks on both Mary and your daughter. They are fit for discharge today, if you wish to take them home,” the nurse informed John as he strode into Mary’s room with coffee.  The room looked cheerful with balloons and congratulatory cards all over. Mary though looked tired, it was hard to get a good night’s rest in hospital surroundings.

“Oh good! Well, thank you. I’ll just get everything organized," John said, as the nurse left the room.

He stepped forward to put the coffee gingerly on the bedside table and bent down to plant a kiss on Mary’s lips and the baby’s forehead.

As the morning progressed, they worked together, packing and organizing paperwork, eager to get going and get home.

“Where do you think he has gone?” asked John, frowning as he folded Mary’s clothes.

“Who, Sherlock?” said Mary, immediately knowing whom John was talking about. He had already asked variations of the same, three times already since he walked in the morning. 

John had got a text from Sherlock the previous night and part of him seemed to be constantly focusing on that.

_I am leaving the country for a bit. Will contact upon my return-- SH_

He had tried to ring back, but the phone was switched off.

“Don’t worry, love. It’s probably a case. Tell you what...why don’t you call Mycroft and find out”

After a few moments,John said, “I don’t really want to talk to bloody Mycroft. I’ll wait for now. If Sherlock does not call by next week, I’ll think about it,” as he picked up his daughter and cuddled her, taking the baby smell in.

 

                                                ***

The Toyota Innova weaved its way through Devprayag and had already gone past the landslide by the time Sherlock woke up from a rather deep sleep. He sat up and wiped the drool that was trickling down one lip corner with the back of his hand.

His voice was hoarse from disuse, “What time is it? How much longer, Vedant?”

“Sherlock Sir, good you are awake!" Vedant said cheerily. "We should be half an hour at the most. We will reach just in time for dinner. Hrishikesh bhaiyya messaged that he has reached home now and is waiting for you.”

Nodding his head, Sherlock looked out of the window. They were making good time, Vedant was a good driver; the skills required in driving through treacherous poorly constructed Indian roads in a mountainous terrain were very different to what most considered to be good driving skills.

Sherlock watched as they passed little villages, crossed precarious bridges over the river Mandakini. Even with just over a year gone by, it seemed more populated, more buildings had come up. _Wonder if John would have liked to come here. Wonder what he is doing.... Have they taken the baby home. Is he wondering where I am? Kesh is waiting for me. What do I say if he asks the reason for my impromptu visit? He is the calmest person I know of, he will dislike seeing me upset. I must calm down....._

They by-passed the main town of Rudraprayag and took another route which ran alongside the river Mandakini. The waters leaped up joyously as fast currents hit huge boulders, they shimmered in the setting sun. After a few minutes, the car started ascending one of the mountains. Vedant had instructed that the air conditioner be switched off as the car climbed, to prevent any engine stalling. The air cooled considerably as they climbed and several snow clad mountain peaks of the Himalayan ranges came into view. Pre-summer dryness lent an eroded loose quality to the soil, as it billowed behind the racing car. There were no railings to prevent a plummet of several hundred feet, to certain death if Vedant lost concentration.

Sherlock, having experienced this terrain first-hand on previous occasions, sat calmly and watched the river appear and disappear from view and let the roar of the river and musical songs of birds in the surrounding trees engulf him. In a few minutes he would see Kesh again, a nervous anticipation fluttered in his gut.

Suddenly Vedant glanced back and handed over something to Sherlock. “For your hair, Sir.... it looks terrible," he said candidly.

Sherlock looked down at the brown plastic comb, now nestled in his hands and chuckled loudly, indulgently. _How intrusive and endearing at the same time_.

He looked up to meet Vedant’s eyes in the rearview mirror and smirked. Vedant responded sagely, “Hrishikesh bhaiyya is seeing you after a year, Sir. You should look your best.”

Sherlock kept grinning even as he combed his hair dutifully.

The car turned a final corner to reveal a massive house, perched on the mountain side. It was three levels high, with terraces all around, only partially visible through a thick foliage of majestic trees. The gravel driveway was lined on both sides with verdant grass, different varieties of flowering plants and trees. The temperature further dipped with all that greenery.

As the car slowed into the driveway they passed a wizened, thin old man who stood displaying a warm smile,  wearing a cotton Indian dhoti and kurta, palms folded respectfully in front of his chest. The traditional Indian greeting of _Namaste_.

_Haridas_

Vedant cheerfully waved to Haridas, as he brought the car to a stop.

Standing in front of the car was a tall elegant man, eyes twinkling, a dimpled smile of welcome on his face as he stood looking at Sherlock for the first time in over a year.

_Kesh._

                             To be continued…………

 

RUDRAPRAYAG

 


	3. Sakha- A friend

 

Haridas ran forward to open the car door. Sherlock stepped out and absently answered his greeting without breaking eye contact with Kesh.

Time and the world seemed to recede as Kesh stepped forward and embraced Sherlock. Letting out a shuddering breath, Sherlock simply _melted_ into the embrace, and let his face nuzzle into Kesh’s neck, wrapping his arms around his friend. He felt his whole body sag, as he allowed Kesh to carry his weight just for a bit. Strong arms held him up, as Kesh murmured into his ear, “I’ve got you. It’s all right now. Let go. I’ve got you.”

Sherlock rubbed his eyes on Kesh’s shoulder to surreptitiously wipe away the tears that he seemed to have unexpectedly and embarrassingly produced. He stepped away to look at his friend, startled at seeing tears mirrored in Kesh’s eyes. Kesh was smiling warmly and Sherlock gave a self deprecating laugh.

Sherlock slowly came to his surroundings and looked up. Both Haridas and Vedant were standing some distance away, their eyes lowered respectfully, their hands folded in Namaste. There were other men and women - about fifteen altogether--standing quietly in a line alongside them.

“Come, Sherlock...... meet my newest family members.” Kesh pulled Sherlock by his arm towards the group.

Leading him to a middle aged fit looking, man with a balding forehead and alert eyes, he said, “This is Partha. He helps Haridas in looking after the house. Partha, this is my friend, Sherlock.” With a humble smile, the man bowed down slightly while holding his palms folded in front of him. Sherlock inclined his head slightly, “Pleased to meet you.”

Kesh continued to perform introductions down the line, until he reached the last two members of the group.

“This is Meera... she has taken over the cooking duties for now,” said Kesh as he gestured towards a young beautiful girl in her early twenties. She smiled shyly at Sherlock, her hands pushed a boy of about seven years towards Sherlock.

The boy looked up at the tall imposing foreigner with wide eyes. He tugged on Kesh’s shirt urgently and asked, “Is this the uncle with the beautiful eyes?”

Laughing aloud, Kesh bent down to sweep the boy in his arms, “Yes, it is. The most beautiful eyes in the _entire world_. Sherlock, meet Mahesh, Meera’s brother.” Sherlock blushed furiously as he smiled at the boy and said Hello. The entire group was leaning forward to get another look at Sherlock’s eyes.

With a nod towards the group Kesh said, “Come. It is dinner time, and Haridas and Meera have been slaving all day to celebrate your arrival with a feast.”

Taking the cue from their employer, the group dispersed quickly to their allotted tasks.

Kesh looked around, frowning, “Wonder where …” Just then a young smartly dressed man came jogging up the driveway, towards them.

“Sorry, Sherlock Sir, I was held up with some work.” His voice was a trifle out of breath, but there was a beaming smile on his face.

Sherlock strode forward in greeting and shook his hand. “Uddhav, I have told you previously, please just call me Sherlock.”

“Welcome, Sherlock,” said the man, as he gave Sherlock a brief bear hug. “We are all so excited you are back. Kesh has been frantically trying to wrap up all his pending commitments during the past 48 hours. He has barely slept. And of course I have been running around trying to keep up with all his orders.”

Kesh smiled,  “I’ve asked Haridas to get the room on the second floor ready for you, the one with the terrace. You are walking much better this time." He pulled Sherlock into the house. “Come, you must be jet lagged. Eat. Shower. Rest. Everything else can wait for now.”

 

                                                                                ***

The king sized bed dipped slightly, as Sherlock lowered his body and let out a groan of bliss at finally being horizontal after more than 24 hours. Dressed only in pants, he pulled the duvet up and gazed outside the huge open French windows that covered an entire wall of his bedroom and opened out to a massive terrace. It was a beautifully appointed room in marble and wood, cheerful curtains fluttered at the gentle but cold breeze. The background sounds of the splashing waters of the river below created a perfect ambiance for a good nights rest. He was exhausted.

Dinner had been an intimate affair, with Kesh, Uddhav and Sherlock around the table, making pleasant small talk, while Haridas bustled around them to serve food.

Uddhav had arranged a smart phone for him, so he had sent Mycroft a brief text.

_Have arrived. In good hands. Do not worry. This is my number-- SH_

Just as he was about to switch the bedside lamp off, there was a knock on the door.

Haridas entered the room bearing a tray with a bottle of water, a cold pitcher of milk, cookies, bananas, apples. He put it on the coffee table, then turned to Sherlock and said, “Please call me if you need anything, Sherlock. Hrishikesh is still busy with his conference call. He had tried to cancel it, but unfortunately it was not possible.” He turned to leave, only to have Sherlock stop him.

“I did not get a chance to speak much to you earlier. How have you been,Haridas?”

Haridas walked towards Sherlock’s bed and perched himself gently at one corner, near Sherlock’s feet. He shuffled forward and started pressing and massaging Sherlock’s calves with both his hands as he replied, “How can anyone who is looked after by Hrishikesh, be anything but happy? He is my son, my father, my employer, he is my everything.”

Sherlock groaned again with pleasure at feeling his tired muscles being massaged.

 “You don’t have to do this, Haridas,” Sherlock protested after a while, as he sat up to hold Haridas’s hands still. The duvet fell to his waist, but he did not mind. He held the scrawny hands and caressed them with his fingers, remembering how they had gently coaxed food into his mouth, how they had held his coughing trembling body while Kesh sponged him and administered physiotherapy.

With a smile, the older man replied, “It is my honour to serve the one whom Hrishikesh loves.”

Neatly avoiding Sherlock’s startled look, he pointed to the scar on his right upper abdomen. “I see this has healed well. But this is new,” he pointed to the ugly starburst scar under Sherlock’s breast bone. “What happened?”

“I was shot.”

“Oh....it must have hurt a lot....”

“Yes, it did,” came the soft reply.

Meeting his eyes, Haridas stood up briskly and put gentle hands on Sherlock's shoulders, pushing him back to bed. He adjusted the pillow around his head and bent down to stroke his head smiling gently, “Sleep now, Sherlock. There are no wounds that time does not heal. You are home now. Trust Hrishikesh. Rest.”

He closed the door softly on his way out.

 

 

                                                                ***

The backlit green numbers of the digital clock on the bedside table flashed 4.43 am when Sherlock awoke. The room was noticeably cold and he tried to snuggle in and go back to sleep. But typical of the diurnal disturbance of the jet-lagged, he felt fresh and too alert to fall asleep again.

He dressed quickly before his body started shivering and stepped out onto the terrace.

The terrace was bigger than the bedroom, marble flooring and lined by balustrades. It allowed a panoramic view of the surrounding peaks and was partly covered with an awning.

He walked forwards to the left of the terrace and watched the river below; it looked like a sleeping cobra from this height, sinuous curves and glistening white as it traced its way through the valley. The waters danced and shimmered in the moonlight. Sherlock took in a deep breath of brisk pure mountain air, enjoying the moment of stillness and beauty. He slowly walked a circle as he strolled over to the right side. This part looked down at the balcony off the first floor of the house and into Kesh’s room. The architect had taken great pains to disturb the natural terrain as less as possible, in building the house. A huge banyan tree emerged through a specifically constructed circular hole in the marble flooring and the giant tree lent an impressive cover over most of the huge space, its foliage extending to the second level, where Sherlock stood.

Sitting on one of the seats arranged near the massive tree trunk on the first floow terrace, was Kesh. Dressed only in loose pajama bottoms, upper body bare, toned muscles casting shadows on his chest in the moonlight. Spine, back and neck in a straight line, cross legged, eyes closed, hands held relaxed on his lap. A calmness on the unlined face.

Meditating then….

Sherlock watched him for some time, struck by the stillness that emanated from his friend. _How is he not feeling cold? He used to do this, I remember.... Wake up long before sunrise and meditate everyday. Certainly the location is helpful. So beautiful, so peaceful._

After watching for a while longer, Sherlock went back into his room and dragged a duvet and pillows out. He created a comfortable nest on the day bed next to the balustrades and settled in. And watched his friend some more through a gap in the balustrades. Two squirrels were running to and fro from the tree to Kesh’s feet. Three parakeets chirped and squabbled at the corner of the terrace.

Just watching the stillness emanating from Kesh, calmed Sherlock.

  _When I close my eyes, I go to my mind palace.... I follow every thread of logic to its conclusion and exert order into my inner landscape. Where does Kesh go when he meditates? I must ask him. Haridas said he loves me. Is that possible? What kind of love is he talking about? It is in Kesh’s nature to love everyone and everything. Is that the kind of love he feels for me? What type of love do I want it to be? Do I love him? He makes me feel whole, he validates everything I am. I love knowing he exists, knowing that he is my friend, knowing that he will be there always. I enjoy the proximity, his company..... His body smells like sandalwood, his touch is like a benediction. Only giving, never asking for anything. Is that love?_

The duvet was warm, the mattress was soft. He snuggled some more as his mind meandered aimlessly, content to be in the moment, waiting to drift back into sleep.

_Is what I feel about John love? The need to possess, to fuck, to be the sole recipient of his attentions, to jump off a building for him, to shoot a man for him, to be jealous of anything that takes him away from me?_

Sherlock succumbed to sleep before he could answer his own question.

 

                                                                                ***

It was after breakfast that Kesh stood at the window of his third floor office and looked down at the sleeping figure of Sherlock. Wrapped up in the cocoon of his duvet, only his curly black hair falling on his forehead and upper face and part of one pale hand clutching the duvet were visible. And yet Kesh stood there, mesmerized as he watched.

_Love is so strange. I would rather be here, looking at bits and pieces of another person, than anywhere else in the world._

Kesh laughed at himself, but continued to stare at Sherlock silently. He allowed himself to celebrate the existence of Sherlock, his presence in front of him.

He heard Uddhav’s brisk footsteps as he entered the room, but did not turn away from the sight he was drinking in. He heard the rustling of paper, as Uddhav brought him up to date with various events.

“These documents came through by email. They are the renewal contracts of two of the engineers at CERN and need your signature.....Some villagers want to come and see you tomorrow and I have tentatively asked them to come just before lunch, but if you have something planned, we can change that.” His hands moved with efficiency as he laid down relevant papers in neat piles over the desk for Kesh's perusal.

He continued to update Kesh, “Mr Rathod, the school principal came to see me this morning. He wanted to inform you that the school children are coming for a picnic by the riverside at Govind ghat. I reminded him that you have given blanket permission for the estate premises to be used whenever they need it, but he felt it was polite to seek your consent anyways. He was also asking about when it would be convenient to visit the site of the new school building. It is coming along well, they are applying concrete to the brick walls now....”

He broke off, when Kesh did not respond. After a moments silence, he walked over and stood next to his friend and peered out trying to catch a glimpse of what it was that was holding Kesh’s attention.

The duo stood, looking down at the motionless sleeping Sherlock for some time. And then started speaking in the short hand that only friends who have known each other for very long, can have.

“He has come back, broken again…..” said Kesh.

“He will heal again,” Uddhav's voice was confident.

“Provided he does not leave prematurely,” Kesh remarked.

“Well then, don’t let him go.”

“It doesn’t work that way. He needs to _want_ to stay. _Want_ to heal. I have no control over that.”

Uddhav asked the question that had been burning in his mind for long, “Why do you love him so much?”

Kesh took a deep breath and remained silent for a while. When he started speaking, he sounded like he was answering to himself, as if each word were chosen after deliberate consideration, slowly, haltingly…..

“Because he is beautiful in body and in spirit…… Because he is brilliant……..Because he is a rare person who will always fight to have his intellect rule over his emotional mind…….. Because he is strong…… Because he is a bit lost and chose to come to me for help.”

Then, turning to face Uddhav for the first time since he had entered the room, he said, “And because he is _mine_. He just does not know it yet.”

 

                                                                                                ***

 

The sun was directly overhead, when Sherlock awoke from a dreamless refreshed sleep. After a quick shower he bounded down the staircase and strode to the kitchen, footsteps eager and confident; a confidence borne of the conviction of an assured welcome.

Haridas and Meera were busy packing food in some containers. Sherlock greeted them,  perched himself on the corner of the table and watched. He absently picked up a cucumber slice from the salad and started munching on it.

Meera stepped forward and slapped his wrist sharply and glared, “Stop grazing, Sherlock Sir! You will spoil your appetite.”

Rendered speechless by this assault Sherlock looked at Haridas in protest, who laughed and said, “We are packing a picnic lunch for Hrishikesh and you. The local school kids are having a picnic at Govind Ghat, a small alcove where the river flow is quite slow. Hrishikesh owns all the land around here, as you know. The school has always been welcome to use the safe spots like the Ghat.”

Closing the container lid, he started to pack the cut fruits in another one. "It is such a beautiful day, he thought you might enjoy spending it outdoors.”

“Where is he?”

“He has been waiting for you to wake up. It is good you are ready, maybe you can leave soon. He is outside in the garden, working on his computer.”

Sherlock bid them goodbye and went looking for Kesh.

He was sitting under a tree, laptop balanced on his knees, working intently. He looked up as Sherlock came and broke into an inviting smile, “I hope you rested well, Sherlock. I was rather hoping we spend some time together, have a picnic, swim in the river, and talk…..Is that okay?”

“Sounds perfect.”

“Well grab some swimming trunks and I will go fetch lunch, and then we will leave.”

 

 

                                                                                                To be continued…….

 

NAMASTE

 

 

 

 


	4. Atmanastu kamaya- for the love of the Self alone.....

Kesh's eyes drank in the sight as Sherlock swam in the river. Some distance away, about a hundred boys and girls were splashing around, the air echoed with their excited squeals and shouts as they frolicked and enjoyed themselves.He watched as each powerful stroke of Sherlock’s limbs cut through the water easily, arms and legs glowing in the afternoon sun as they appeared and disappeared in the swollen river currents. 

Several minutes later leaning against a tree, Kesh watched Sherlock as he walked towards him, looking like a young god, wet trunks clinging to his toned thighs and groin, abdomen flexing gracefully with every step, chiseled cheekbones and tousled hair casting shadows on his face as he moved.

“ _Perfection_ ,” thought Kesh.

“That was exhilarating!” said Sherlock as he briskly dried himself, “It has been a long time since I’ve done this.”

“You are an _excellent_ swimmer.”

“I know,” said Sherlock unselfconsciously. “There just isn’t much opportunity to do it in England. It is bloody cold most of the time.”

“I thought we could take a walk, it is too crowded and noisy out here,” said Kesh, gesturing at the kids running helter-skelter.

“Good idea,” agreed Sherlock.

                                                            ***

Thirty minutes later, they had made their way out of wild bushes to settle down at a clearing at the peak of a small hillock overlooking gushing river below. They could still see the children, but were out of sight themselves. An overhead mango tree provided dense shade. Kesh had brought their small bags with him and he proceeded to put a picnic mat on the ground. He lay down, gesturing that Sherlock do the same. They lay side by side, looking up at the branches of the huge tree and patches of sky visible through it, lost in thought.

A period of silence followed.

“You were right you know. The outcome has not been what I had desired,” Sherlock said finally.

“No?” Kesh murmured.

“No. I thought I was doing it all for John, for his safety. He has moved on. He got married a few months ago. Mary…. Her name is Mary. They had a baby girl just a few days ago.”

Kesh was quiet, perceptive eyes gazing at Sherlock, face devoid of expression. Sherlock knew from past experience that Kesh was that rare individual, a good listener. He listened with his entire being so his silence did not worry Sherlock.

Sherlock broke his gaze and went back to staring up, as he told his tale.

Serbia, returning to England, meeting John, getting punched by John, exoneration by the Yard and the British public, John almost burning to death in a fire, bombs planted below parliament house, John’s wedding, the attempted murder at the wedding, his own brilliance----

As he talked, Sherlock could not help but stand up and pace. There was so much to tell, so much had happened. He strove to stretch his vocabulary to communicate the despair, the angst, the sense of betrayal after having sacrificed so much. He gesticulated animatedly with his hands, his eyes darted from side to side, as if he was replaying every moment.

\----Magnussen, Janine, Mary’s dubious past, getting shot by Mary, Christmas at the Holmes’s, John’s decision to forgive Mary, Appledore, shooting Magnussen, leaving for Eastern Europe, Moriarty’s surprise broadcast, coming back, discovering it was a hoax, John’s continued absence in Sherlock’s life, the pain and frustration as it built, the birth of their daughter.

Kesh continued to watch silently as his friend talked, eyes fixed on Sherlock’s face, his own still betraying nothing.

At last Sherlock fell quiet. He walked up to Kesh and sat down, knees bent and hugged close to his body, arms locked around them, chin on top of his knees. He looked at the still silent Kesh morosely and then his eyes flickered away, as he resumed talking, sounding lost, now that the recitation of concrete facts was over.

“I feel angry. I feel betrayed. I come home to an empty flat every day, and think about the times I spent with John. I jumped off a fucking building, I gave up the _Work_ so that I could have that again. Lestrade calls with cases and I text John to come and join me. More often than not, he is busy at the surgery, or out with Mary, or with their friends. I feel agitated and snipe at everyone." He pursed his lips. "Sometimes he comes, and I feel elated and try to show him how brilliant I still am. And he praises me and says, _that’s fantastic_ , and I feel drunk with happiness and power. I know then that I am a fool as I try to cram weeks of living into a few hours and I find myself feeling absurdly grateful for it. ”

“When we were together before I jumped it had felt like it was going to be forever. I never imagined that he could be happy with someone else. Stupid, _stupid_ …..And now they have a child. How am I supposed to do it, Kesh? Live in the same city, day after day, live off the crumbs of his presence, leftover crumbs from his time with Mary and a daughter. Its unnatural to be this sad. For a mind as brilliant as mine, to have _sentiment_ win over my functioning day after day, its _intolerable_.”

Sherlock looked at Kesh and held his gaze for a while before lowering his eyes as he absently pulled at the grass next to his feet, “I fantasize about him when I touch myself. I think about him naked in my arms. About fucking him. The body has always been transport to me. He is _not gay_. What is _wrong_ with me?” Sherlock’s voice rose to a shout as he threw some of the plucked grass down in frustration.

He sighed deeply, “With all my intellect, I can’t find a way out. Can you help?”

Kesh watched the naked anguish and vulnerability on his friend’s face. It was decision time, and really there was only one right response. But still, part of him hesitated. It would be so easy. The object of his love and desire sat there, breathtakingly beautiful, vulnerable, confused, needy….. Just say _Sorry you were hard done by. I understand what you are saying. Life is unfair. You are brilliant. You deserve better. I love you. Come to me, I will give you all that you need….._

It was a new feeling to him, _hesitation_. He examined it curiously.

He stood up abruptly, and walked a bit further away, hands in his trouser pockets and looked out at the surrounding peaks, snow still enveloping them in a purple haze.

“What are you thinking, Kesh?”

When he slowly turned back to face Sherlock, his eyes looked determined but soft.

“Sherlock, humans like validation. When they share their emotions or thoughts, they expect to be understood, consoled, empathized with. It is a very rare person who is ready to accept the truth in its entirety. “

Sherlock’s eyes flicked over Kesh's face, jaw clenched, “And you think I don’t want to hear the truth? _Me_?”

“On the contrary,” came the immediate reply, “I have yet to meet another person who values reality and the truth more than you. The reason for my preface was…… Sherlock, you are very dear to me. I know what I have to say and once I have said what I must...... you may find it unpalatable. You may chose to leave. The thought is … _difficult_.” Kesh frowned.

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed, as he snapped, “Out with it, Kesh. I’m not a fucking toddler. I need to know what you have to say. We can deal with the rest later.”

“Very well,” said Kesh as he walked back and sat down opposite Sherlock. Legs crossed, spine straight, hands on his lap, face composed. He watched Sherlock’s stony face, the hands clenched tightly around his knees. With a deep breath he started.

“Any analysis is only as good as the premise it is based on. You are a scientist, you know that. If your premise is false, your thought processes will go in the wrong direction. And then _how_ can you achieve the right outcome, _how_ can you achieve clarity?” He met Sherlock’s narrowed eyes calmly.

“What false premises am I operating from?” Sherlock demanded.

“For now I would like to point out two. False premise number one is that you sacrificed everything. That you did it for John. For John’s safety. Half of your mental state is due to this. Your anger at non-acknowledgement of your _sacrifice_ , your feeling of betrayal.” Kesh paused briefly as he took in the puzzled focus in Sherlock's eyes.

“Sherlock, in all of creation, every _deliberate_ action is done for the Self alone. No one _ever_ does anything for anybody or anything else. Your work, you do it because _you_ want the challenge and the thrill of the chase. Let us say, you think you are doing it for the victim or their families, you are still doing it because _you_ empathize with them and _you_ are hurting. You stayed with John because _you_ liked being with him. You jumped off a building because _you_ wanted him to be safe. You arranged his wedding because _you_ wanted him to be happy. You shot Magnussen because _you_ wanted John and Mary to be safe. You kept texting him because _you_ wanted his company. You touched yourself thinking of him because _you_ found it an arousing fantasy. You have come here because _you_ are seeking answers. _Your_ desire for any outcome outweighs the distaste or the difficulties borne by you. To say you do anything for anyone else is disingenuous.”

As Kesh continued, Sherlock’s frown was gradually replaced by an intent focused look. _Good, he is really listening now._

“What about altruistic actions? They are done for other people, not for oneself!” Sherlock murmured, musing aloud.

“When there is a tragedy like a tsunami or an earthquake, people donate time, money, offer prayers. The so called _altruistic_ actions. Well, if they are born out of thought, if they are _deliberate_ then they are still for the Self, because _you_ want to feel good about yourself or _you_ want to avoid guilt or _you_ want to demonstrate compassion in a concrete way. Or instead of being deliberate thought out actions, they could be a _spontaneous_ outpouring of help. But even these spontaneous actions are for the Self alone, only in this case the Self has _expanded to include the other_ , or indeed to include the world. Something inside you recognizes the essential _oneness_ of creation. This is the _higher_ Self, this is your reality, not the petty, small individuality that you so proudly sport.”

Kesh observed the look of utter concentration on Sherlock's face and knew that every word he had said was being recorded in that giant computer of a brain and would be ruminated and reflected over, word for word.

He waited. When Sherlock gave him a small nod, he continued.

“False premise number two: You love John Watson. This accounts for the second half of your mental state. Sherlock, don’t confuse attachment with love.”

“What is the difference?” Sherlock asked, his voice sharp, urgent.

“ _Attachment_ is psychological dependence on another person or thing. _Love_ comes from a standpoint of absolute self sufficiency and fullness. If you depend on someone or something-- for your happiness, for validation, for self esteem, for a sense of purpose-- you are attached. The problem is attachment _always_ ends in sorrow. You think you love John. He validates you, tells you that you are brilliant, reaffirms your good opinion of yourself, makes you feel important. You need him for these things. So if he is with you, you are happy; if he is missing, you are unhappy. This is not love. It is dependence, it is attachment. John’s opinion of you is just that, _an opinion_. He can change it anytime.” Sherlock's eyes widened.

“Love blossoms and _surges_ forth regardless of what the other person feels or where he is. _First_ you have to be a complete person and only _then_ you can love another. When you need another to complete you it is not love. Do you see?”

"Yes."

“The problem is that we can never be _physically_ independent. We depend on nature for our basic survival, on the society for our other needs. But _psychological_ freedom is not only possible but also desirable. When you are fullness, you are _free_ , you are able to radiate true love. It takes time, deliberation and effort. But once you start thinking in the right way, _any_ attachment can be overcome. You have to decide if you want to go back to London and live a miserable, frustrated life tethered to John's presence and validation. Or if you want to go back, complete and full in yourself, and love him from that standpoint; not because you need him but because he exists, you know him and love him.”

Kesh leaned forward, his voice soft,  “There is more to you than the sum of your parts. You are blessed with exquisite beauty, a superlative intelligence and a naturally contemplative mind. But deeper than all three, there is the essential Sherlock, who is complete in himself, who is the pure beautiful existence. Find him. Stick with him. He will never leave you. He will guide you.”

Kesh took a deep breath and said with finality, “I have said what I have to say. Possibly I have said too much. Now it is up to you, to reflect, to contemplate, to decide.” He fell silent.

Sherlock sat in stunned silence for a while as he reflected. After a while, he abruptly got up and walked to the edge of the hill, staring silently into the distance.

“You knew this would happen," he said dryly.

“It was always a possibility. Attachment sooner or later brings sorrow.”

Turning around and meeting Kesh’s eyes, Sherlock asked curiously, without censure, “Why didn’t you say something?”

“You didn’t ask,” came the simple answer. “You were convinced of the actions you needed to take. Unsolicited advice is the most useless thing in this world; the listener is not in a frame of mind to accept it. And besides this kind of crisis is necessary in life. It is desirable. No one grows in happiness. Adversity teaches you. Sorrow has _depth_. You grow. It is painful, _but by God, you grow.”_

Sherlock sat down on a rock and looked away again. Eventually he murmured, “Leave me alone, Kesh. I need to think.”

After a heartbeat, he felt a light touch on his shoulder as his friend said softly, “Take as long as you need. Just make sure you eat sometimes and come home to sleep, no matter how late it is.”

 

                                                                        ***

 

Haridas sat on the steps of the front porch. His shawl was doing a poor job of keeping him warm. Crickets sang their song, as the breeze swayed the branches of the trees around. The clock on the wall of living room was visible through the open front door and showed 11.45 pm. He had been sitting there for three hours.

_Earlier, Kesh had come home, just after sundown. He came into the kitchen and sat on a chair, looking somber. Haridas saw the look on his master’s face and instructed Meera in a quiet whisper to leave. He made a steaming cup of chai tea, and placing it in front of Kesh, he busied himself without disturbing Kesh’s contemplation._

_After a while, Kesh said, “Haridas, Sherlock will be coming late tonight. It is possible he may not be around for a few days. Keep an eye on him but he is not to be disturbed. Try to get him to eat, he tends to neglect food when he's thinking.”_

_“Is everything okay?” Haridas couldn’t resist asking as he came and stood in front of Kesh. To his dismay, Kesh leant forward and wordlessly rested his head on Haridas’s tummy. His hand spontaneously went to Kesh’s head and started stroking his hair. Kesh was silent for a while, then angled his head up to look at the man who had been a father to him for most of his life and said, “It will be. Don’t worry, Haridas, it will be. We just have to be patient. We have to wait.”_

Coming back to the present, Haridas peered at the clock again. As he waited, his mind drifted to images from over a year ago when Sherlock was last here. He thought of the thin, pale, sick man, bruised all over, sunken eyes…..

_Kesh running into the house urgently, carrying an unconscious Sherlock in his arms; doctors summoned; Kesh changing IV drips; Kesh massaging Sherlock’s body with gentle hands as he slept; Kesh sleeping on an armchair, night after night as Sherlock slept; Kesh changing the bedding when despite their best efforts Sherlock soiled himself; Kesh assisting Sherlock as he walked three days later; Kesh and Haridas giving Sherlock his first bath in days; Kesh shampooing Sherlock long locks as they laughed and exchanged snide remarks and crude jokes like long term friends; Kesh and Sherlock sitting out on the terrace talking for hours; Kesh watching as Sherlock left, a small frown on his usually calm countenance….._

Heavy dragging footsteps broke his reverie and he hastily stood up from his cramped position. Sherlock walked towards him, coat billowing behind him, nose and cheeks reddened with the cold, an inscrutable expression on his face.

He recoiled at seeing Haridas, frail body shivering slightly in the cold, standing there, hands folded with respect.

“Haridas! Why are you still awake?” exclaimed Sherlock.

“Just wanted to make sure you got home safely, Sherlock. If you give me five minutes, I will heat up dinner for you.”

“I’m not hungry, it’s all right. You go to bed. And don’t stay up for me, it’s not necessary.”

“I’m sorry Sherlock. I did not mean to annoy you.”

Sherlock just gave his arm a squeeze, as he walked past him to his room. The sound of the bedroom door clicking close resounded with finality in the silent house.

                                                           

 

                                                                        To be continued…….

 


	5. Mananam- Contemplation

The midday sun was hidden by dense clouds, the breeze brisk and cool, as Vedant adjusted his limbs for what felt like the hundredth time. He had been there for four hours now, watching Sherlock. _Why_ , he did not know, but still he faithfully kept his eyes fixed on Sherlock's still figure, which had not moved even an inch in all this time.

_Haridas had summoned him urgently at half five in the morning to deliver his instructions, “Keep a watch on him. Hrishikesh has said he is not to be disturbed, so stay far away. This is some food, if you see an opportunity, place it in front of him. Partha will relieve you at noon. If he summons you, do whatever he says. This is very important.”_

So Vedant sat looking at Sherlock, who was dressed in beige linen trousers, white T-shirt and sitting on his huge black coat. Cross legged, elbows on his knees, hands steepled in front of him, fingertips touching his chin, staring fixedly into the distance.  Occasionally his eyes darted back and forth as if he were chasing something with his eyes. But otherwise he was transfixed, like a marble statue.

Earlier Vedant had slowly walked over as close to Sherlock as he dared and left the containers with food and fruits and bottles of water, just at the edge of his eyesight. And left again.

He sat watching.

_Is he praying? Why has he come out here to pray? Why am I supposed to watch him while he prays? Who do these foreigners pray to? They don’t even know any Gods._

_Wonder why he is here? Hrishikesh bhaiyya seems to respect him a lot. Wonder where he found him? It is not my business anyway. I am a simple man. I must just do my job. If Hrishikesh bhaiyya wants something, I must do it._

_Look at his hair, so disheveled, so long. Why does he not cut his hair properly? They must not have good barbers in foreign. I know some guys who would be happy to go to foreign and cut these people’s hair. He is so pale. Maybe they don’t eat much meat in foreign. But he is so big, like a giant. Hrishikesh bhaiyya is so tall, but even he has to tilt his head a bit to look at him. I like James Bond. He is like a giant too. I like his car……_

His ruminations were disturbed by Partha creeping up to him suddenly. Careful not to make much sound on broken twigs and stone, they exchanged places after a whispered exchange. Partha sat down and took guard.

 

                                                                                                ***

 

Haridas sat in the kitchen, at the edge of the chair, twisting and turning the thin, cotton kitchen towel in his hands. He again peered out  of the window to see if Uddhav’s car had arrived.

It had been four days since Hrishikesh had given his cryptic instructions. For the past three days a solemn atmosphere had settled into the household.  For three days now, Sherlock left before sunrise and came home late at night. After that first night, Haridas had taken to scurrying away the moment he heard footsteps and pretending he was in the kitchen doing chores when Sherlock came back. He would try to get Sherlock to eat something, with the occasional success.

Hrishikesh and Uddhav had been busy with meetings. It was the biannual get together  with his factory executives from Surat, Baroda, Ludhiana, indeed many parts of the country. Usually these affairs were less like meetings and more like celebrations; lots of banter, eating, drinking and laughing. But not this time. Once the conferences were over, Hrishikesh retired to his rooms or sat out in the terrace, leaving the task of entertaining the visiting staff to Uddhav. He was his usual gracious self with everyone; and no one realized that anything was amiss.

But Haridas knew him. His master was quiet, lost in thought and withdrawn. There was no change in Sherlock’s behaviour. The whole household was quieter as well, as if taking their cue from its head. Haridas was worried.

_That first morning, Sherlock had come out of his bedroom well before sunrise, only to almost stumble on Haridas’s sleeping form on a mat on the ground. Haridas had taken to sleeping outside Sherlock’s door ever since he had come last year, sick and injured. He had seen no reason to change this practice._

_“Oh for God’s sake, Haridas. Why are you still sleeping here?” Sherlock chided softly, bending down with a gentle hand on Haridas’s arm. “I am not sick anymore, I am not going to cry out in the night for you. You must sleep in your own bed.”_

_“Sorry, Sherlock," Haridas apologized sheepishly. "I just thought I should be close by if you needed anything.”_

_“I don’t need anything, and if I did I am perfectly capable of coming downstairs and waking you. Now listen, I am going out, and won’t be back till later. Do not wait up and do not worry. Okay?”_

Since then Haridas had sent Vedant and Partha and Shankar and others to take up a vigil, keeping an eye on Sherlock in turns. They all came back and reported the same thing---Sometimes, he was just walking along paths near the river or the hills, sometimes he paced around one spot, sometimes he shouted to himself and pulled his long hair; but mostly he sat for hours sitting still and doing nothing. Vedant was adamant in his impression that Sherlock was praying.

Haridas jumped out of the chair as soon as he heard Uddhav’s car pull up. He accosted Uddhav and dragged him to the kitchen to talk.

“This has been going on for three days. Can’t you find out what is going on? Have they had a fight? Can’t you do something?” his voice rose to a high pitch in desperation.

“Calm down, Haridas. Everything will be fine. I don’t know what has happened and it is not our place to know these things. This is between them. And Hrishikesh is not worried. Why are you worried? Do you think that our Kesh will ever let anything happen to _Sherlock_? Do you think people like you and I are in any position to advise Kesh? Trust him, let it be. Everything will be fine,” he repeated as he broke off, not quite sure what else to say. It would not do to let the old man see how disturbed he himself was with what was going on.

_I hope they sort out whatever has happened soon.....Haridas can't take it anymore. Neither can I. Hrishikesh will never say what has happened....I wish there was something I could do, but how can I when I don't even know what is wrong....._

 

                                                                                                ***

 

It was after ten at night that Sherlock strode into Kesh’s room and out into the terrace, where Kesh sat on an armchair, facing the mountains, gazing into the distance in the moonlight.  Light from Kesh’s room spilled out onto the terrace and illuminated part of his face. Moonlight reflected off the marble floor and cast an intimate, cool tone to the backdrop.

Kesh turned towards the sounds of Sherlock’s footsteps and gave a small smile as he started to get up. Sherlock waved him down as he came and stood in front of Kesh, leaning against the balustrade. The two looked at each other for a while.

Sherlock's features were peaceful, his gaze keen and penetrating as he flicked his eyes over his friend. Hope and a suppressed joy reflected on Kesh’s face, the dimples making an appearance as a smile started creeping in.  Their silent communication seemed to suddenly cross some sort of threshold as both grinned in delight and relief.

Sherlock came and stood close to Kesh. He turned his back and sat down crossed legged in one smooth motion, between Kesh's spread legs. He leaned back and rested his head on Kesh's chest. Both looked siletnly at the mountains, breathing in tandem for several moments, enjoying the quiet and the closeness.  Kesh waited patiently, as he held Sherlock close with one arm encircling his shoulders and another gently stroking his hair back from his forehead.

After a while Sherlock angled his head back, hair rising in static as it rubbed against Kesh’s shirt. He looked at Kesh’s face upside down, his voice soft, “It has been rough. The most….. _intense_ intellectual exercise I have ever undergone.”

“I know.”

“You were right.”

“I know.”

“I had to rearrange _everything_. Dismantle huge foundations of preconceptions. Physically drag erroneous notions and throw them out.  Deconstruct every image and belief I had and then put it back together,” Sherlock stared blankly into the distance, one hand clutching at the forearm around his chest. He brought up Kesh’s palm in front of him and burying his face in it he mumbled, “It _hurt_ , Kesh. It was painful.”

“I know.”

Sherlock continued in a husky, emotional voice, “For a while, I was _afraid_ , afraid that I would lose myself. That _nothing_ would remain. What am I, if not all my memories, opinions, beliefs, prejudices, emotions, convictions?”

Gently pushing away Kesh’s hands, Sherlock turned around and looked up at Kesh, his shoulders lightly flanked by Kesh’s knees.

He cupped  his palms in front of his face, as if holding something in them, “I took out everyone and everything from my mind palace. John, Mycroft, Mrs Hudson, Lestrade, Molly, everyone I know and care about and feel that I need to make me complete. Even you……”

Kesh looked on, eyes glittering with unshed tears, his smile tender, insightful.

Sherlock continued in an earnest voice, “I took out every memory, every emotion, every person out and let them surround me, but from _outside_ of me. Where I found _need_ , I examined it , until the need dissolved. And I found to my surprise, even without _any_ of them, I still stood. Solid as ever. I was who I was. I did not need anything.” He shook his head. "It feels strange. Like being completely empty and yet so full that I am spilling over on all sides. No longer an amalgamation of parts but undivided. Do you understand?” Sherlock pleaded as he tried to stretch the boundaries of language to communicate his experience.

“I do, Sherlock,” Kesh smiled even as a tear rolled down his cheek.

Raising a hand, Sherlock wiped the tear away with his finger and said with a tone of wonder, “You saved me. You _saved_ me again. You plunged down into the depths of my despair and pulled me out. _Who are you?_ ” He traced Kesh’s face with delicate fingers, feather light touches full of wonder and affection.

Kesh's smile was radiant, “A friend. Someone who pointed the way. Don’t forget though, it is you who walked on the path.”

“I still have so much to learn. Will you teach me?”

“Do you have to ask?” Kesh raised his eyebrows.

Sherlock gave out a long sigh and bent down to rest his head on Kesh’s thigh. Kesh gently brushed back his hair, rubbing his fingers in Sherlock's scalp in a soothing motion. They fell silent again. Sherlock felt exhausted, drained. He had not slept for more than a few minutes at a time for the past 72 hours. But he also felt a sense of satisfaction, of coming home, as he allowed himself to rest in Kesh’s company.

Soon though, the sting of the crisp night breeze caught up with him and he shivered delicately.

“We need to go inside now, you are cold.”

Sherlock gave a tired nod and got up, swaying a bit on his feet as he walked into Kesh’s room, to go past it. And came to a sudden halt.

Perched on a square marble pedestal, hidden from the sight of anyone entering the room, was a violin; its bow resting against the graceful neck, covered with a glossy varnish that shone in the warm light. Eyes narrowed, Sherlock moved closer and raised a hand to touch its curves with reverent fingers. Delicate touches caressed the dark vertical grains of the spruce inlaid with an intricate pattern of iridescent shells and stones, exquisite craftsmanship evident in every detail.

A hushed silence fell into the room. Kesh stood by his desk, his hand gripping the back of his chair as he waited.

Finally Sherlock turned around, his voice a gentle whisper, “You missed me.”

“Yes.” a simple soft affirmation.

“You bought this _because_ you missed me.”

“Yes.” Kesh nodded briefly.

Sherlock's eyes crinkled with affection, his head tilted as he mused, “You love me…….you love me _passionately._ ”

“Yes.” Kesh's response was direct, without guile. A simple statement made without pretense, without fear of ridicule. Sherlock marveled at the strength of character that allowed such vulnerability to be displayed so openly. _No sense of self-preservation, no posturing....I knew this, of course. Have known it for a year. The unacknowledged truth that has hung between us, never spoken of aloud. But to have him say it so openly. What do people do when someone declares their love for them? How am I meant to respond? Best be honest....._

“Kesh, I don’t do very well with relationships.”

Kesh let out a soft laugh, as he replied, “That's good. Sherlock, I don’t _want_ a relationship with you.” Sherlock frowned. Kesh smiled as he explained, "Think about it. Relationships are _relative_. I sometimes imagine all of us like wooden logs cast upon the ocean, helplessly beholden to the whims of the wind and the currents....meeting and parting with different logs as life goes on. But with you I want _unity_ , if you choose to gift it to me. I....I really cannot accept any less."

"And what is the analogy for unity, Kesh?" Sherlock asked quietly.

Kesh pursed his lips as he thought, "It's like.....quantum entanglement. Where two particles separated by an entire universe still move in tandem, knowing what the other is doing.

Sherlock's nostrils flared with exhilaration, with desire, as his words sank in. Fatigue fell away, vanquished by a surge of pure joy, as he let the affirmation, the validation bathe him, cleanse him. He stood with his eyes closed, mind soaring, as though given wings by the unconditional love of this beautiful man. When he finally opened his eyes they blazed with a consuming intensity that felt like it could burn everything its path.

Kesh noticeably swayed as he tried to withstand the onslaught of the heated gaze with equanimity.

“I need to play it, right now!” Sherlock lifted the instrument gently and tuned it with expert fingers. He walked up and stood close to Kesh, looking into beautiful dark brown loving eyes, as he whispered, “I need to play this for you.” He turned around and walked outside. Kesh followed him. _Finally I had the courage to tell him....he knows....that is all I can do....rest is up to him....._

 

                                                                                ***

Standing proud and confident, under the swaying branches of the banyan tree, legs slightly spread, Sherlock gestured with his bow for Kesh to sit down. A smile graced his lips as he tucked the violin under his chin, took stance and closed his eyes.

The first tremulous notes, pierced the silence of the surroundings hesitantly, as Sherlock acclimatized to the individual feel of the violin and experimented to find his rhythm.

Then giving himself up to music, his eyes closed, Sherlock played.

He played in triumph and exultation, jubilant notes echoing in the thin mountain air. He played to express his gratitude to the universe which had brought him here, to all the twists and turns of his life which had ended with him at this spot, in the company of this one man. He played to express his disbelief at his soul’s journey through the convoluted labyrinth of emotions and events, to express his incredulity at having found himself. He played to let love burst forth through fractures of the shields he had erected around himself, the fractures getting wider as love gushed out.

He let his fingers bleed, as he used the instrument to convey a prayer to the Universe, which had deemed him fit for this revelation.

The violent pace slowed down slowly to give way to soft dulcet tones as he played to express his gratitude to Kesh, to express the regard, the love, the esteem for his friend.

And then he played to seduce; erotic sensuous melodies flowing as he expressed his desire, his longing for union.  And then the scales climbed higher and higher as he allowed his ecstasy to flow, at the consummation of that union, the overpowering feeling of oneness coursing through his veins, burning brighter and brighter, until he could not withstand the intensity any longer and had to let his violin fall.

He stood there panting, chest heaving as he took in great big gulps of air, sweat dripping from his brow, body trembling with combined effort and joy. It was a while before he opened those verdigris eyes to look at Kesh, to see if he _understood_ what he had tried to say with his music.

Kesh stood transfixed, frozen in place, open-mouthed, eyes wide.

They stared at each other for a long time. Kesh's eyes held naked awe, worship, love, hunger as he tried to absorb the beauty, the _power_ of the man and his music. Sherlock's eyes were heavy lidded with desire, flicking all over as he took in Kesh's state, awareful of his own acute arousal, his erection hard, urgent.... _So long...it has been so long since I've had someone.....I need....he would let me....want to have him....look at the love in his eyes, so hungry....MINE_.....

Kesh broke the silence, his voice a hushed whisper full of wonder, “You are so _achingly_ beautiful. _How_ are you so beautiful?  You make me want to write poetry….. You make me want to fall at your feet in supplication….." He shook his head in disbelief," _How_ are you even possible?”

Sherlock put the violin down gently. He turned around and walked up to Kesh, his strides deliberate, eyes ravenous. Standing close, he raised his right hand to grasp the nape of Kesh’s neck and pulled him closer. Face barely inches apart, he squeezed. His voice had gone subsonic with desire, his eyes effortlessly pinning Kesh, "Will you let me have you?”

Kesh stared at the flecks in those blue-grey eyes, looking like all his wishes had come true at once. "Yes," was all he managed to say softly.

Sherlock let out a low growl, as he moved both hands to cup Kesh's face, his touch proprietary.... _MINE_...... He leaned in to close the last few inches of space. Soft warm lips parted under his as he explored, breathing in the sandalwood scent of Kesh’s body.  He sucked on each lip in turn, before his tongue found its way into the hot moistness of Kesh’s mouth. His hands moved down to cup Kesh's ass and rub the matching hardness against his erect cock. He gasped, his tongue insistent inside Kesh’s mouth, teasing, flicking, tasting. His hips moved in rhythm, large hands clenching each ass cheek, as he ground their erections together.

He feasted on everything on offer like a man starved.

He felt drunk, _high_ on desire as he plundered and sampled and _took_ and _took_. So drunk, that at first he did not notice it; Kesh's body trembling all over, the pounding heartbeat, a clenched fist holding the front of his shirt in a death grip, the inexpert artless movement of Kesh’s lips, the hitched irregular breaths….

When it slowly pierced through the haze of his arousal, he frowned. Withdrawing gently, he took in Kesh’s appearance.

Kesh looked wild; eyes huge like saucers, pupils fully blown, hair in complete disarray.  He was breathing in short gasps, shivering like he had the flu, his hand still clutching at Sherlock’s shirt, as though it were his only source of support.

Sherlock moved to cup his face and darted worried eyes over Kesh’s face to find raw panic overtaking all the signs of arousal.

“Shhh…….Hey....Kesh....It's alright. Come here....Shhh...,” he crooned soothingly as he gathered Kesh’s  trembling body into his arms and tucked his head on his shoulder.  Running reassuring circles on Kesh’s back, he waited patiently for his breathing to return to normal. _What have I done? He is panicking....Why is he panicking?._ “I’ve got you. Calm down....I'm right here...it's alright....”

As Kesh settled, Sherlock gently led Kesh to an armchair and helped him sit down. He knelt in front of him, smoothing Kesh's hair down, as he cautiously asked, “What is it, Kesh?”

A flash of embarrassment flickered in Kesh’s eyes as he looked away. To see his normally unflappable friend this unsure seemed surreal, like he had entered into an alternate dimension.

Gently he raised Kesh’s chin with two fingers and peered into his eyes, “Kesh, have you……have you  ever been with a man before?”

Kesh was still looking away, biting his lower lip, face blushing. After a pause, a small shake of the head.

“A woman?” Sherlock asked, his voice soft.

Another small shake.

"Kesh, do you have any sexual experience _at all_?"

Kesh continued to avoid his eyes and shook his head slightly.

Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment as he absorbed this.... _a virgin...Dear God, a virgin....._ “Are you even _gay_?”

Finally Kesh looked up, as he answered in a small voice, “I don’t know.”

“But you are willing to let me have you?” Sherlock's tone held disbelief, wonder.

“Yes." The response came without hesitation.

“Why?”

Kesh answered simply, “Because I love you.”

With an soft snort, Sherlock leaned forwards and gently rubbed noses with Kesh, “That's not the way it works, Kesh. You don’t have to let me have sex with you to show your love. We don’t have to…. _do_ anything...Do you even _want to_?”

Kesh took a deep breath, fighting to hide his diffidence, “Desperately.”

Gathering him in his arms, Sherlock said softly, “Then we’ll figure it out. We can go slow….. Or wait…..whatever you need.” He passed his fingers through the long black locks gently, holding him close. When he did lean back, his smile was suggestive, playful. He arched an eyebrow, “Maybe this time I can teach you a few things."

As though he were heartened by this attempt at light humour, Kesh smiled shyly, “I’m a fast learner.”

“We’ll see, Kesh…..But I must warn you,” said Sherlock as he brought his lips close to Kesh’s ears and nipped at his earlobe. Kesh gasped aloud. Sherlock's voice was husky, “Once I get started I am told I am _quite_ insatiable and _very_ demanding.”

Kesh swallowed nervously and buried his face on Sherlock's chest. Sherlock’s loud chuckle rang out into the darkness.

 

 

                                                                                                To be continued…….

 

 

 


	6. Yogasthah Kuru Karmane-Work for the Whole

The crunching of the gravel beneath his shoes lent a rhythmic beat to Kesh’s wide strides. The air smelt misty, dawn was at the cusp of arrival,the fog lent an ethereal air to the vista. It was his favourite part of the day; when man-made sounds were silent and only nature sang its songs. As he turned around a bend on the path, he startled a peacock into scurrying in the bushes. He laughed softly to himself.

It had been hard to concentrate this morning when he sat down for meditation. Images of the previous evening kept flashing into his mind. Sherlock's arms around him, Sherlock's face when he saw the violin, Sherlock playing the violin. Kesh did not understand much about music but even he could recognize the passion that Sherlock had played with.  He was aware he had witnessed something sublime; a stunning man playing transcendental music, as if for some minutes Divinity itself had chosen to grace the Earth with its presence.

And then Sherlock had _touched_ him. In ways Kesh had never been touched before, murmuring words Kesh had never imagined directed at him. Sherlock, whom he had loved for over a year.... Sherlock who had always seemed so unattainable.... Sherlock who had not looked back at him after he'd left.... Touching him, kissing him, Kesh had been able to breathe in his scent, taste his skin, his breath.... so intense, Oh God , he'd never thought it could be like this, so _intense_....as though his whole body had caught _fire_ …… and he had behaved like such a _fool._

_Wonder what Sherlock thinks of me? Probably thinks I am an idiot, panicked so badly with just some kissing…... But he was pressing his erection to mine. It felt wonderful, but frightening…..What if he had not stopped? What if he had stripped me..... taken me right there? He certainly seemed to want to….I would of course have let him…...Would it have hurt? But he wouldn’t hurt me…….His erection felt so big. What does it feel like to have something that big inside of you?.....  Was he disappointed? Will he touch me again, or will he think it is not worth the trouble? Will he let me touch him?......._

“Hrishikesh! Hrishikesh! Wait!” the shout came from behind him, Haridas's shorter legs hastening to catch up.

“Haridas! What’s the matter?” he said turning around.

“Sherlock didn’t come home last night! I kept thinking I should wake you but couldn’t decide what to do." Haridas's voice was frantic. "When Vedant left at nine o’clock, Sherlock was already up the driveway. But he did not come in,” Haridas stood there wringing his hands worriedly.

“Calm down, Haridas.” Hrishikesh put his arm around Haridas’s shoulder, his smile reassuring. “He was with me.... in fact he is sleeping in my room right now. Don’t worry, all is well.” He patted the frail shoulder.

Seeing the first proper smile on Kesh’s face after so many days, Haridas sagged in relief, joy. “Is he all right?” he asked hesitantly, meaning  _are both of you all right_.

“We are fine. We just had a few things to get sorted out,” Kesh remarked, answering the unasked question. “We did sleep late though and he hasn't slept much for the past three days. So don’t wake him.”

A relieved and happy Haridas returned home as Kesh continued on his walk.

 

                                                                                ***

 

Sherlock adjusted himself trying to get into a comfortable position at the back seat of the car.

Vedant battled the chaotic traffic with its rickshaws, buses full of tourists and local folk, throngs of pedestrians, meandering cows and small trucks laden with all manner of goods. Horns blared, people shouted, stray dogs barked, ineffective traffic police tried to discipline rule breakers (which was almost everyone) with piercing whistles. At least Sherlock was spared the fumes of the vehicles and onslaught of fried foods from roadside eateries, as the car was air conditioned.

He had woken up refreshed at noon. Haridas had informed him that Kesh had gone with Uddhav to visit the site of the new school building and would like Sherlock to join him there. Sherlock took a quick shower and raced downstairs to inform Haridas he was leaving. He was buzzing with anticipation, events of the previous night fresh in his mind as he hurriedly gulped down the pieces of fruit Haridas forced him to have.

The previous night, he had collapsed on Kesh’s bed, too tired to go to his own and had fallen into a deep, contended sleep.

Finally they arrived.

Vedant led Sherlock into a ramshackle tin shed with a few chairs arranged in a haphazard fashion and a loud rotating fan. Two middle aged women were seated on rickety chairs, hard at work with some papers and tattered files.

Once he ensured that Sherlock was seated, Vedant hurried out.

He returned with a plump middle aged man, wearing thick glasses and a wide smile. He introduced himself, “Welcome, Sherlock Sir, my name is Mr Rathod. I am the school principal." He did Namaste and bowed low respectfully. Sherlock stood up and extended his hand courteously. Mr Rathod flushed with pleasure as he shook the proffered hand enthusiastically. He prattled on as he led Sherlock down a path on a dirt road.

“Please Sir, come this way. Hrishikesh bhaiyya had said that we should expect you. He is on site with the workers and the children. You see Sir, our old school is in very poor shape and the number of children we will have next year has doubled. It has been very hard." He shook his head to show his dejection. "Sir, we tried many times to get the state government to help us but the bureaucracy in India is too much. It's too much, Sir. Finally the town folk suggested that it is best we approach Hrishikesh bhaiyya." He nodded wisely. "You see, we have become quite used to approaching Hrishikesh bhaiyya when we have a problem,” he explained. “Bhaiyya gave us the money to build the school, he even got engineers to design the layout. And he is paying for the builders and materials and everything. We just finished our final exams so we have two months to get the school finished before the monsoons come. It is impossible to build during the rains, you see Sir. The children have also volunteered to help.”

They came to a huge open ground by the river banks. The river seemed calmer here, gentle flow with small waves lapping the edges of the ground. A large L-shaped one storey unfinished structure stood in the middle of the ground, bare bricks lining some walls, some having already been covered with concrete. Workers were diligently plastering the only remaining unplastered quarter of one of the outer walls.

A loud roar of laughter broke out in a group standing next to wall amidst the paint tins. Seven young boys in their teens, wearing mostly torn trousers, brandishing paint brushes were listening to Kesh, who stood in the middle of the group. A few teenage girls were also around, stacking piles of bricks, arranging paint tins and fetching paint stained rags for the boys. Kesh stood, bare to the waist, his muscles rippling in the midday sun, as he applied beige paint and talked. His dimples flashed as one of the boys said something and everyone burst out laughing again. Everyone seemed to be giggling and laughing as their hands moved, painting away. A crotchety ladder bore the weight of a youngster who was urgently yelling at one of the girls to get something.

Mr Rathod led Sherlock to Uddhav, who stood near a make shift bench covered with papers that appeared to be architect designs printed on plotting paper. He was arguing with two men, about the merits of window location and sunlight.

Sherlock came and stood next to Uddhav, without interrupting, his eyes fixed on Kesh who, unaware of his presence, continued to jest with the children. Some workers had joined their group, wearing half dhotis around their torsos, their emaciated bodies gleaming with sweat, on display. They too sported toothy grins and mischievous looks as they joined in the jocularity.

Sherlock smiled, his eyes full of affection as he stood there and watched.......this extraordinary man, who had spectacularly fallen apart in his arms the previous night and now despite being the benefactor, stood shoulder to shoulder with workers and beneficiaries, doing hard labour. The dichotomy was disconcerting.

_What did I not see? How could I have allowed my vision to become so narrow, restricted to Baker Street and five individuals, that I failed to see?  Failed to observe! Stupid, stupid………_

Uddhav, having finished his conversation with the men, came and stood next to Sherlock as they both silently watched Kesh.

“Hello, Sherlock!”

“Good afternoon, Uddhav,” Sherlock said, gesturing to Kesh, “He asked that I join him here.”

“Yes, I know. He thought you two could have lunch together. He hasn't eaten yet... I’ll call him in some time.”

The two watched quietly, letting the voices and laughter envelop them.  “Do you know what he is doing, Sherlock?”

Sherlock quirked a questioning eyebrow.

“You would think he is helping out with painting. Well he is doing that as well. But in reality he is getting to know the children and the workers. He will get to know about their families, about their living conditions, about problems they are facing. And then, he will come to me with instructions, to deliver money, food rations for months at a time, bank guarantees, uniforms, warm clothes for winter, building materials to repair their houses…… That is what Kesh does, that is what Kesh _is_.”

Sherlock stood silently as he absorbed this, aware that Uddhav meant more than just to commend Kesh.

“I have seen him help build schools, hospitals, old people’s homes. He sees a need, he finds the best man for the job, gives money, encouragement, whatever help is needed. And then he forgets about it. And you know what? He never takes credit. He does not go to their opening ceremonies or any functions. He does not allow any of the institutions he helps build to be named after him. He declines all efforts to commemorate him, in any way. Kesh always says, _Uddhav, whatever I have does not belong to me. It belongs to the Whole. The Totality will tell me where it needs to be distributed. That is all I am, a conduit. It is a grave error to think you are doing anything. What needs to happen, happens at its allotted time. Anyone who thinks it is they who are doing something are insane.”_

They stood in reflective silence for a bit longer.

“Management of vast amounts of money should require a team of people. And yet, I have never seen anyone except you helping Kesh. How do you manage?” asked Sherlock.

“Well, it is quite simple. He just gives and then forgets. He does not claim any tax benefits, he does not ask for book keeping from anyone. In fact most of them do send monthly reports, but neither Kesh nor I go through them. As I said, he finds the right person for the job, and then hands it over. “

“But do people not cheat, embezzle?”

“In all the years I have worked with him, it has happened only once. Kesh is a good judge of people, Sherlock. And everyone respects him, feels loyal to him”

“What happened that one time?”

“Kesh confronted him, told him the error of his ways and found another man. End of story. He did not hand him to the police or anything. Said the Universe will look after it…….Sherlock, he is the best human being I know. I have known him for many years." He turned to gaze intently at Sherlock, his expression pointed, meaningful, "He deserves everything that is good and beautiful in this world.”

Sherlock turned to face Uddhav, his expression open, direct, “I know, Uddhav. That is what he should and will have.”

Uddhav gazed at Sherlock, his eyes searching, and then gave a relieved smile. “That is all I ask for.”

They stood and watched for a bit longer.

“Do these children have many problems in their homes?” asked Sherlock, gesturing towards the children.

“Quite often, yes. Mostly it is related to poverty. Father losing his job or his crops failing. Too many mouths to feed, not enough education, no savings, a hand to mouth existence, debt, inability to pay debt, alcoholism, then abuse, physical and verbal, further poverty……..It is a vicious cycle. Kesh does whatever he can to break the cycle. I have seen him visit huts to talk, to give, to threaten, to protect…..absolute strangers. One does what one can. He does more than anyone I know.”

They started ambling slowly towards the group. “What about you, Uddhav? Tell me about your family.”

“I have an old mother and younger sister, Radha. She is getting married in a fortnight actually.”

“And what about you? Are you married?”

“Not yet, but Kesh thinks I should marry Meera.”

“The young girl who cooks?” Sherlock exclaimed.

“Yes”

“Do you love her though? Why is Kesh telling you who to marry?” Sherlock asked puzzled.

“He is not _telling_ me, it is just a suggestion. But if Kesh is suggesting it then I have to take it seriously. He is both like an older brother and a father. And he is the wisest man I know. But _Meera_ , Good God..... she is a live one. I am not looking forward to asking _her_!

Kesh caught sight of them as they neared. He looked up, dimples flashing with delight as he handed the paint brush to a boy and jogged towards them. Sweat was running down his brown torso as he stopped in front of them.

“Sherlock! Let me introduce you to everyone,” He pulled Sherlock by the arm towards the motley group.

 

                                                                                                ***

 

The sounds of Kesh’s laughter and Sherlock’s deep chuckles resounded in the driveway as both made their way into the house, well after nine at night.

It had been an exhilarating afternoon for both.

After a shared lunch, Sherlock too had joined the men and boys to help. Shrugging off his T-shirt, folding up his linen trousers, chucking off his trainers, barefoot and half naked, he had plunged into working. Painting, carrying bricks over to expedite the building work, going over the blueprints, a heated discussion about the size of the play areas, arguing animatedly about the pros and cons of cutting the lone mango tree on the ground verses changing plans and building around it….

He had a pleasant ache all over his body, he was covered with dirt, paint, sweat. He had been ogled at and touched by everyone he had met that day. First it was the children and workers. Then they seemed to bring their friends and acquaintances. They stood in groups and unashamedly gaped and gestured. When staring was not enough, they came closer and either wanted to shake his hand or touch his pale skin. It _should_ have been annoying, but somehow wasn’t. Kesh’s delighted laughs and Uddhav’s eye rolls, somehow all made it an experience worth treasuring. _Forever_. He could not remember the last time he'd just had _fun._

Haridas watched with a smile as both his masters stumbled in, clothes stained with paint, faces hastily scrubbed to remove dirt, devilish smiles on their faces.

“We have already had dinner, Haridas." Kesh grinned at him. "I think it is shower time and then bed time."

They climbed the first floor, still talking and laughing. As they reached the first floor landing, a heavy silence descended. They looked at each other quietly.

Taking matters into his own hand, Kesh took a deep breath and asked, his voice diffident, soft, “Where would you like to sleep tonight?”

Sherlock stepped close, his gaze piercing as he scanned Kesh's shy, hopeful expression.

"In your bed, if you will have me." He made a vague gesture towards the ground floor. "If it does not seem too inappropriate,” he added, his voice husky, questioning. _Hope I'm reading this right....._

“They are my family, Sherlock. My own people. I have nothing to hide from them." Kesh stepped even closer.

Sherlock slid his hand around Kesh's waist, pulling him closer. His eyes flicked between Kesh's eyes and his lips. He felt himself harden, an aching need to take what was so obviously on offer....He leaned forward and whispered softly against Kesh’s lips, “I would like to kiss you properly, but I need to get clean first. Give me a few minutes to have a shower first. I'll meet you in your bedroom.”

 

                                                                                                ***

 Sherlock stood under the hot jets of the shower as he attempted to wash the grime of the day away. A gentle smile graced his face as he thought back over the day. It had been _fantastic_ , he had not felt so carefree for a long long time.

_Just over a week ago, I was at Baker Street, crying over an imagined hurt. Burdened with confused thinking, suffering from the narrow perspective which results from being too entrenched in one’s petty life problems. I could not have imagined then, that a week later I would be here, washing off dirt and smiling. Life is strange, unpredictable...... There is a man waiting downstairs for me. An extraordinary man. Who loves me. Who knows everything about me and somehow still loves me…… He is waiting there, willing to give his body to me, because he loves me……  Fuck, a virgin! A bonafide, shy virgin. So sophisticated with the ways of the world, well traveled, so wise. And a fucking virgin….. I have to be careful. He panicked yesterday because I was too aggressive. Control yourself, Sherlock. This man deserves so much more than a fast, hard shag._

Briskly drying himself, throwing on a t-shirt and soft cotton pajamas, Sherlock flew down the stairs and into Kesh’s room.

 

                                                                                ***

 

The bed side lamp bathed the bedroom in a warm, intimate glow. Sherlock and Kesh both lay on their sides over the feather soft duvet, facing each other and supporting their heads with their hands. They had been talking for some time. About the day, About the school.

“Most people your age and your resources would have a goal, Kesh. Either an ambition for success or to better the world. Why do you think so differently?”

“Sherlock, we live for about 70-80 years. We spend our entire life working for something, trying to become something. And then we die. Not an iota of difference is made to the bigger picture. The world has seen entire empires come and go, what to talk about an individual person?”

“But if everyone thought that, how could the world survive?”

“Like it always has and it always will," Kesh shrugged."The only purpose of our existence is to try to understand yourself, discover yourself, be happy, to do what needs to be done in a situation and then let go. What else is there?”

They lay there in quiet harmony, looking at each other, contemplating on their discussion.

The warmth of the light reflected off of Sherlock's curls, giving his face a golden glow, the beauty of his eyes arresting, irresistible. Kesh drank in the sight, his expression open, _hungry_ , Sherlock's gaze softened as he soaked in the awe, the yearning all over Kesh's expression.

Lifting an errant curl from Kesh’s forehead, he asked gently, “What do you want , Kesh?”

Kesh blushed, his voice when he spoke after a pause was hesitant, “Can I touch you?”

“Kesh, there isn’t a part of or crevice in my body that you have not touched, handled, cleaned,” Sherlock smirked.

“That wasn’t the same, I wasn’t trying to……you were sick....I swear to you, Sherlock, I've never….” Kesh stammered, eyes wide.

Sherlock raised an arch eyebrow, his tone affronted, “Are you telling me that you were _not_ lusting after my cock while I was peeing in the jar you were holding?”

“What…Sherlock, please, I never…….” spluttered Kesh, his head shaking with denial, until he caught the amused gleam in Sherlock’s eyes.

And Sherlock laughed; throwing his head back in glee, he let go of a loud belly laugh, clutching his tummy with one hand, his body curled up as he rolled around in mirth. He pointed a finger at Kesh, “Your face….. Fuck, Kesh. Oh God! Your face!......You looked like I had accused you of being a bloody pervert!” Tears of laughter spilled from his eyes. Kesh laughed in embarrassment and lunged at Sherlock. Hands entwined they wrestled and rolled around in the king sized bed. laughing and giggling, till both were out of breath, panting.

After a while, as the laughter died down, Sherlock lay down and looked up at Kesh. He said in a quiet voice, “Touch me, Kesh.”

Kesh took a deep breath, a surreal feeling settling inside of him. He leaned towards Sherlock and raised a slightly trembling hand. Light fingers ran over Sherlock's cheekbones, down the nose, touched the jaw. His thumb slowly traced the soft lips, that exquisite Cupid’s bow. His eyes flicked from Sherlock’s lips to those exquisite eyes, to be greeted by an indulgent look. Emboldened he bent forward and pressed a soft kiss on Sherlock’s lips.

“Kesh….." Sherlock sighed softly against his lips, eyes closing with pleasure.

“I can’t believe I am allowed this,” Kesh's voice was full of disbelief. “I hadn't allowed myself to dare, to dream about it.”

Sherlock opened his eyes, soft and dreamy. He pulled at Kesh’s t-shirt, “Take this off, Kesh. I want to feel your skin against mine.”

Both took off their t-shirts, Kesh stared at Sherlock's chest....creamy skin, scattered freckles, puckered pink nipples. "So beautiful....so perfect," he murmured as he bent down to kiss Sherlock, his lips timid, exploring. Sherlock ran light fingertips up and down his back in gentle encouragement. Kesh's eyes moved over that beloved face with awe before he kissed some more, close mouthed soft pecks… occasional small excursions of tongue to lick hesitantly. He traced Sherlock's face with soft lips, over his brow, his eyelids, his nose, amazed at his own boldness, his breath starting to come in soft gasps. Sherlock let himself go passive, welcoming, accepting, allowing Kesh to get confident.....rewarding the shy explorations with soft moans and sighs, his hands gently cradling Kesh's hair.

Bending down he paid homage with his lips, hesitant licks on nipples, nostrils flaring as he inhaled Sherlock’s scent around his nipples, under his arms. He nudged Sherlock around and ran his palms all over his back, kissing softly up the spine, burying his face in the nape of Sherlock's neck, breathing him in deeply. Sherlock lay patiently as he enjoyed the reverent touches.

When he finally turned Sherlock on his back again, he got another good look at Kesh’s  face. _Good, very aroused, but not hyperventilating. God, look at his eyes, like he is worshipping me with them. Okay, my turn…Take it easy……don't freak him out like last night...._

“My turn, Kesh,” Sherlock murmured as he buried a hand in Kesh’s thick locks and pulled him closer. Fitting his lips with Kesh’s, he started slow. Nip….. peck…. lick.

He reversed their positions, cradling Kesh’s head against the pillow as he bent down. He carefully angled his torso away, only letting their chests touch as he slowly deepened the kiss. Licking each lip in turn, he ran his tongue between them, sucking on the lips as they parted to let him in. He took his time, exploring, guiding, tenderly coaxing  Kesh to move his mouth in tandem.

Breath starting to get labored, Kesh responded with enthusiasm, as Sherlock moved a hand further down to roll a nipple gently.

“Sherlock….” Kesh's hips bucked up in desperation.

“Like that, do you?” Sherlock's smirk was seductive as he pinched a bit harder, before moving his hand to the other nipple.

“Sherlock, please…..” Kesh's voice was husky with need, his body writhing helplessly. Sherlock's pupils were blown wide as he enjoyed the uninhibited innocent responses. _Lips swollen, gaze unfocused, nipples red and puffed up. So sensitive....Fuck, look at him....so wrecked with just foreplay... God, Kesh……._

“We can’t go to sleep with raging hard-ons _again_ , Kesh,” Sherlock whispered in Kesh’s ear, his lips nuzzling against the crook of Kesh's neck, his arms stroking his sides soothingly. “I won’t touch you just yet. But I do want you to bring yourself off. Will you do that for me today?” Kesh looked desperate, needy. Sherlock murmured against Kesh’s lips, “You can go to the bathroom and do it while I furiously wank out here or you can do it out here, with me holding you close. I promise I won’t look. What would you like, Kesh?”

With a low groan Kesh hid his face in both his hands, “Oh God, you must think I am such a fool….such a stupid fool…”

"Hey.....Shhh.....none of that, Kesh," Sherlock uncovered Kesh's face gently. “ _Look_ at me. This is us, you and me. We are alone, there is no need to feel embarrassed. We don’t have to follow some rule book, Kesh. It's just us." He slowly turned Kesh to his side and settled behind him, spooning his body. His voice dropped an octave, “Besides, you have no idea how very arousing this is for me.”

Slipping one hand under Kesh’s head, he pulled him close, his other hand splayed on the abdomen, carefully angling his erection away. He suckled under Kesh's earlobe gently, “Go on. I won’t look, I promise……take yourself in hand, Kesh.”

Kesh hesitated for a while, drawing comfort from Sherlock's gentleness, the absence of ridicule. He slid his hand inside his pajamas and gasped loudly as he held his aching cock, feeling on edge, as though he needed but two strokes to explode.

“I’ve got you, Kesh. Stroke yourself, go on…….I can feel how hard you are. You are desperate, aren’t you?” Face buried in Kesh’s hair, lips whispering directly into his ears, he let his deep baritone fall further, “I want you to imagine my fist around your cock, stroking you, sliding my thumb over your slit, spreading that precome over your hard-on.....Maybe I'll pinch your nipple with the other hand while I wanked you....you'd like that, wouldn’t you?

Kesh gasped, his hand moving faster as he fisted his cock.  Sherlock could feel every flex of Kesh’s arms as they bumped into his tummy, the pleas falling from Kesh's lips like an erotic symphony, “Sherlock…Sherlock, please…….Oh God, Sherlock…..”

“That’s right, let me hear you," Sherlock murmured in encouragement, as he continued to spin the erotic fantasy. "You would look down as my hand holding your dick became a blur, your glans appearing and disappearing in my fist, as I suckle and bite your neck." He buried his head into Kesh's neck, suckling and nipping gently. "You would moan and beg for me to bring you off. And I would rub my cock on your naked ass……Oh, Kesh,  I can’t wait to fill you up as I pump your cock with my hand….you don’t know overwhelmed yet… wait till you have a big cock shoving in and out of you....” Sherlock’s voice was hoarse with lust, as caught up in his own fantasy, he moaned in Kesh’s ear. He wanted so desperately to touch his own cock, wanted to fuck something……he needed friction _dammit_ ….

Kesh's rhythm became more frantic, as he moaned mindlessly, “Please, Sherlock…hun....hun.…Sherlock…….”

“You will feel so tight, so hot around me. Tight, virginal ass just for me to enjoy…. _Jesus_ , fuck, Kesh…. _tell me_ you’re close…….” He pleaded.

“Sherlock……I’m coming, Sherlock.... hold me….. Oh God …Sherlock…… _please_....”

Sherlock tightened his grip around Kesh who was almost crying with pleasure as he came in huge spurts, his entire body jerking in Sherlock’s arms. Hot drops of come painted Sherlock’s hand, as he clenched Kesh’s belly painfully and moaned loudly. He gathered all his reserves of will power to wait for Kesh to stop crying and gasping. As he felt Kesh go limp in his arms, he planted a soft kiss to his shoulder and whispered, “Be back soon,” as he almost ran to the bathroom.

Within seconds he had lowered his pajamas and taken himself in hand. Just half a dozen strokes later, he came in violent spurts all over the sink, splattering drops falling over the mirror, crying out in relief as he held the wall with one trembling hand.

He came out a minute later, damp towel in hand and stood at the doorway, looking at Kesh. Kesh's smile was shy, yet radiant.

"Are you alright?" Sherlock asked, affection crinkling his eyes, his deep voice loud in the quiet of the night.

Kesh nodded and grinned.

Sherlock playfully threw the towel towards Kesh’s face. He chuckled as he climbed into bed and gathered Kesh in his arms, “I don’t know about you, but that was the _most_ erotic thing I have ever done.”

Burying his face in Sherlock’s shoulder, Kesh murmured, “That was the _only_ erotic thing I have ever done.”

Sherlock's fingers stroked his hair gently, he bent down to kiss his temple. Kesh snuggled closer, a smile still on his face as they fell asleep.

 

                                                                                To be continued…………..

 

 

 

 

 

 


	7. Adhikaraha-Qualifications

John stood looking outside his living room window, absently tapping the sill with his finger as he thought. Mary and Rosa were taking their afternoon nap. Rosa still kept them up most nights and Mary had taken to resting whenever she slept, to keep sane. She was breast feeding, so John was unable to help much.

Mary had decided to take three months off on maternity leave. In another five days John was due to restart work at the clinic, their finances demanding that he resume. He was _not_ looking forward to going back into the tedium of minor illnesses, endless forms, small talk and soothing noises. But secretly he did not want to stay at home either. The novelty of having a baby at home wore off quickly, as it became apparent with mounting evidence that this could rapidly become monotonous  too; with disturbed nights, a messy house, pervasive smell of baby, milk and diapers, constant feeding, cleaning, bathing, catching snippets of sleep.

_Where is he? If he were here at least I could go with him for some cases, have a break from this interminable sameness, catch up to talk about the latest criminals and murderers to ail London. He would understand the need for a break. I love Mary and the baby, but God, I need a break from all this normality…_

Holding his phone in one hand, tapping the window sill with another, he thought some more.

_I don’t want to call bloody Mycroft. Surely Lestrade or Mrs Hudson know where he is? Maybe try them first. Damn it, where is he? He should have told me, talked to me. How can he just leave and be gone for ten days, without telling me?_

Taking a deep breath, he dialed

“Yes. Oh Hi! Lestrade? Hi, its John.”

“Oi John! How are you, mate?”

“Yeah, fine. How about yourself?”

“Good, good…”

“Listen, I was wondering if you would like to go out for a pint sometime, you know?”

The police sirens in the background sounded loud as Lestrade tried to shout out his reply, “Look, John. Can I call you back? We have just come out here for a double homicide and the shit has hit the fan at the Yard, trying to figure out what the hell is going on. Fuck, we could use Sherlock right now! The Chief expects me to conjure up a miracle and solve the case and find the murderer with half an ounce of evidence. That’s _Sherlock’s_ forte, not mine!” he broke off to hurriedly shout something at someone, before continuing, “ Where is the bloody wanker anyway? Just got a fucking text ten days ago, saying he is leaving the country. I could use him right now. Tried to call him an hour ago, but his mobile is still switched off. Do you know when he is coming back?”

“No, no I don’t. Listen let’s talk later, okay? You’re obviously busy.”

“Yeah, all right John. Say hello to Mary and give the baby a cuddle from me okay.”

 

                                                                                ***

Sherlock lay on the picnic mat, one bent arm supporting his head, one leg flexed as he moved his knee to and fro lazily. He was watching Kesh.

They had left home at seven in the morning, and Vedant had driven them for an hour to Chopta. From there, they had trekked for more than an hour, backpacks on, wooden sticks to help, through a little known path up this mountain. Kesh led the way, nimbly climbing and jumping over rocks and little streams of mountain fresh water, as the two climbed steadily. The air was cool, the surrounds thick with forestation, as the friends talked and laughed and pulled and pushed to help each other make the journey.

Legs burning pleasantly, they reached the summit finally, their efforts well rewarded with the spectacular view of the  towering, jagged snow covered Himalayan chains all around them.

“You see that peak, Sherlock?” panted Kesh excitedly. “That is the Kedarnath peak. There is a beautiful valley right at the base, the Kedarnath valley.  I can’t wait to take you there. It is possibly my favourite place in the world.”

Kesh named the peaks, pointed at different trees  and birds, as they set up for their packed breakfast of aloo parathas and buttermilk. The sun had risen two hours ago and reflected pink off the gleaming snow. The area where Kesh had led them was a clearing, with some trees, many big rocks and a sudden sharp drop at the edge. Kesh informed him that they were about 3000 metres above sea level and in a region called the Switzerland of India.

After their brunch, they set up their picnic mats under the shade of a large Deodar tree. Pink rhododendron bushes were all around, the sweet smell of mountain dew gave a dreamy idyllic tone to the backdrop. They talked and laughed and lay down together, content just to be in the other’s company.

Now, Kesh had gone to stand near the edge of the cliff. He leaned against a massive rock and looked out, long curls gently fluttering, wistful smile dimpling his cheeks.

Sherlock watched his profile for a while, thinking. For the past 3 days, they had been going daily to the school building and spending many an hour either working or just talking or swimming and coming back pleasantly exhausted.  Kesh suggested they take a break, as he was really keen to show Sherlock this trek.

For the past three nights, they had slept together. In each other’s arms, after bringing themselves off. Despite his earlier bravado, Kesh was slow to get confident in bed, following Sherlock’s lead with a child like trust that filled Sherlock with a tender protectiveness.

_Its time to push the envelope a bit. Look at him, beautiful man. Mine. Oh Kesh….._

“Kesh,” Sherlock called out. “Is anyone likely to come here?” 

“No. I have been coming here for years and have never seen anyone...... it’s too out of the way,” replied Kesh as he turned to look at Sherlock, smiling. Sherlock watched him silently, raking his eyes over Kesh’s body with deliberate intent and pushed his tongue out to lick his lips seductively.  Kesh’s eyes widened in response.

“Come here,” Sherlock rumbled.

Kesh walked towards him, heart thudding in his chest, feeling suddenly breathless.

Sherlock lay down and pulled him closer. “Kiss me, Kesh."

Lips moved against each other as they kissed lazily, tongues meeting, sliding. Sherlock’s hands roaming over Kesh’s back, Kesh tangled his fingers in Sherlock’s curls and sighed. Small gasps escaped Kesh’s lips as Sherlock tongue danced and flirted with his. The air between them suddenly felt charged. _Yes, please, Sherlock……._

“Lie down,” Sherlock murmured against his mouth. He sat up and removed his shirt and then tugged Kesh's shirt out of his cargo pants, throwing it aside.

He pushed Kesh down gently over the mat and loomed over him, eyes hooded with desire as he raked his gaze over Kesh’s face. Kesh looked back, wet lips parted, eyes flashing with desire, nervousness. Sherlock tangled his fingers into Kesh's long locks  and pulled on one side to bare Kesh’s neck, nuzzling, kissing, biting gently.

Kesh moaned, “Sherlock, Oh God, yes…”

Sherlock slid his hand lower and flicked one nipple, and then pinched it gently and rolled it between his fingers. A breathy moan escaped Kesh’s lips as his hips bucked up at Sherlock’s touch. “So responsive, my Kesh,” Sherlock said with soft approval. Tightening his hold on Kesh’s hair, Sherlock tilted his head up and swept down with a low groan to kiss him again, tongue invading, moving, stroking, conquering. 

Kesh felt his pulse pound in his ears, as Sherlock licked his way down to reach Kesh’s nipples. Holding one nipple between his teeth, he nibbled and then pulled then soothed it down with a lick as he played and flicked the other one. Kesh was begged brokenly, “Sherlock, Sherlock, please….”.

  _I thought I would get used to this. How can I, when he touches me like this? When I can feel  every breath he takes against me, when his voice is whispering such things in my ear, his fingers play with me like he plays his violin. Look at him….so beautiful. His eyes look like he wants to devour me. How did I get so lucky?... Should I ask for more today?... How do I phrase it?.... He might laugh at me, at my eagerness. No, he won’t._ Sherlock had moved to the other nipple now. He ached, Oh God, he wanted..... but didn't quite know how to ask.....

Sliding up again, Sherlock kissed the side of his mouth, his voice husky, “I like the sounds you make, I could listen to your moans forever.” His keen gaze flicked over Kesh's overwhelmed face. He murmured in a quiet voice, “Do you trust me, Kesh?”

A pause, as Kesh tried to climb out of his haze. “With every fibre in my being,” Kesh said simply, as he looked up with loving eyes.

“I am going to see you today. I am going to touch you. And you are going to come in my hands,” Sherlock whispered gently. "Okay?" Kesh nodded, eyes wide.

Sherlock sat up, his eyes fixed on Kesh as he slowly tugged at the waistband of Kesh's trousers and pulled them off. Kesh swallowed nervously, his face flushed. Sherlock pulled him closer, eyes still on Kesh's face as he breathed against his lips, “Kesh, my beautiful, shy Kesh.”

He waited for the tremors to die down a bit, as he slowly let go and propped himself on one elbow. He allowed his gaze to travel down for the first look at Kesh’s hard length, brown and swollen, nestled in black curls . “So beautiful,” he whispered, petting Kesh’s abdomen gently as both looked down. “That’s _more than_ generous, Kesh,” he said, as he planted more reassuring kisses on Kesh’s face and chest. “When we come here next I rather think I would like to ride it. I think it would go really deep. Would you like that? To be buried deep inside me as I move, Kesh?”

A trickle of precum dripped down from the wide slit as his cock twitched at Sherlock’s words. Kesh buried his face in Sherlock’s chest with a mortified gasp. Sherlock soothed his hair with gentle fingers, “Hey, I told you, this is just you and me. It’s _us_ , Kesh. No need to hide….Can I touch you?”

Feeling Kesh’s nod on his chest, he scooped his face up and held his chin as he asked, “Watch with me?”

They looked down together as Sherlock let his hands slide down and immerse in the thick nest of curls stroking in circles. “I bet you smell delicious down there, Kesh. Next time, I think I think I will bury my face down there and _fill_ my lungs with you.” He touched the length with his fingers slowly sliding them up and down his cock. And then a broad palm curled around Kesh’s leaking, thick shaft and he arched, gasping and trembling.

“Shhh… It’s okay. I’ve got you,” hummed Sherlock as he stroked. “Sherlock…please…. _Oh God_ ,” keening whimpers escaped from Kesh’s mouth as Sherlock bent down to kiss him. He let his tongue invade deep into the wet panting mouth.

Kesh had lost all coordination, mouth open and messy and panting loudly. His hips bucked as Sherlock spread the moistness and slicked his cock and allowed Kesh to fuck the tunnel of his fist.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he whispered in his ears, and then playfully nipped the shell of his ear as he breathed, “Can you imagine my mouth around it? It will be so hot, so wet. I would suck you, while you could hold my hair and pull.” His strokes got a bit faster as he continued, “I could deep throat you, Kesh. Do you know what that means? I would take you in right up to the base of your cock and swallow around it. It feels _divine_. Maybe I can teach you to do that. Would you like to have my cock in your mouth?”

Kesh writhed desperately, as Sherlock eased off his grip.

“I need to touch myself, Kesh,” groaned Sherlock as he let go and pulled down his trousers and pants. He loomed for a bit next to Kesh, as he struggled to get his ankles free in that position. Kesh’s eyes were _huge,_ pupils enlarged as he drank in the sight of Sherlock’s thick, long cock, curving gracefully as it stood turgid and stretched in line with his abdomen.  The beautiful dusky pink creating a mouthwatering contrast with the thick patch of curly dark hair around its base and the pale abdomen. Veins stretched the thin skin and shone with a blue hue through the slickness.

“Play with yourself a bit, Kesh, I need to get the edge off,” said Sherlock hoarsely as the silent awe in Kesh’s eyes made his cock throb with need. He settled back on his knees between Kesh’s legs, as at his encouraging nod Kesh too took himself in hand and started stroking. Both men gasped, looking at the other’s cocks as they pulled on their own. A loud moan escaped Sherlock as his hips bucked up, the sight of Kesh masturbating, filling him with an helpless want.

“Kesh, bend your knees and spread them a bit, let me see all of you. And go slow with the wanking, I don’t want you to come yet.”

Letting go of his cock, Kesh slowly bent both his knees as he planted his restless hands next to his body. His bollocks where tight and pulled up, leaving Sherlock with a clear view of his cleft. Letting go of his own aching cock Sherlock parted Kesh’s cheeks, thumbs digging into the flesh,  “Let me see you…. _Fuck_ , Kesh…. ” Biting his lower lip with this teeth, his hand moved back to his cock, moving fast, voice husky, “Someday soon,that hole will be slick and open and aching for _me_. For me to _fuck_ into it,” as he kneading one cheek.

Kesh’s hands were clasped in tight fists as he was now panting openly, chest moving fast, wild desperate eyes darting between Sherlock’s face and cock, hips arching helplessly in the air, wanting to hold, be held. His legs spread wider of their own accord in mute invitation. A deep guttural sound of pleasure escaped Sherlock as he saw this. He let go of Kesh’s ass as he slid his hand to Kesh’s mouth.

He pinched his lower lip gently and said, “Open.” Kesh’s jaw fell open as Sherlock pushed two fingers in, watching with barely concealed animalistic desire, “But first maybe I will slide my cock in your mouth. Fuck your pretty mouth. _God damn it_ , Kesh,” he growled as with superhuman effort, he took his hand off his hardness. He bent down to kiss Kesh messily, as uncoordinated as his friend, drowning in a sea of lust and desire.

He panted into Kesh’s mouth, “Not like this though, not now, _our first time together_ , my Kesh."

He leaned back and turned Kesh to his side and settled behind him, “Come here, want to hold you close.” One arm was securely cradling Kesh’s head while the other moved down to hold his aching cock. Kesh cried out aloud this time, unable to hold in his desperation. He was pleading, his breaths like a prayer to a God, “Please, Sherlock….I can’t Sherlock, please don’t stop….I beg you, please...” Sherlock nuzzled his neck as he parted Kesh’s cheeks and positioned his hardness in the naked crack made slick by his precum and frantically rutted, sliding his cock up and down in rhythm with his hands on Kesh.

The sounds of gasps, moans, incoherent begging and shushing reverberated as both men raced to their climax. “Sherlock, it feels so good….so _good_ , Oh my God, please Sherlock” alternated with “Kesh, my lovely Kesh, that’s it Kesh, let go. Come for me.”

Sherlock felt Kesh’s body stiffen, as his cock swelled some more and with a loud cry, he began pulsing into Sherlock’s hands, sobbing incoherently, entire body shaking, as his come painted his belly and Sherlock’s hands. Sherlock angled himself closer as he rutted roughly, one come-stained hand digging into Kesh’s hips, grunting loudly, Kesh’s sounds of completion spurring his own. His whole body clenched as  thick, white strings of come spattered all over Kesh’s arse, and he cried out triumphantly, “Kesh, fuck, yes, God, _Kesh…..”_

For a moment both lay there panting as Sherlock leaned his sweaty forehead against Kesh’s back and looked down. He lazily dipped his hand in the white streaks and spread his come over Kesh’s arse with his fingers and dipped some in his cleft, and laughed in pure delight. He tightened his arms around Kesh and kissed and nuzzled his neck, his shoulder, the side of his cheek, his hair as he cuddled him.

After a while, Sherlock turned him around gently, searching Kesh’s eyes and face for any distress. Tear stained stunned eyes looked up at him as Kesh gave a shy smile, that widened into a sheepish grin showing his deep dimples. He burrowed his face into Sherlock’s chest, and resisted any efforts to lift it.

Sherlock smiled as he petted his hair, “My sweet, shy Kesh. That was _good_ , wasn’t it? So good….. you did so well.”

He cleaned them both with a kitchen towel and pulled his coat to cover them both and he kissed the back of his head as he kept murmuring encouragements and endearments. Kesh sagged into his arms after a while, and Sherlock settled back.

Sated and happy, they slept.

 

                                                                                ***

 

“Oh, Hello, John! How are you? How are the missus and the baby?” Mycroft’s smooth voice asked on the phone.

“Yeah, fine Mycroft. We are all fine."

“Have you named her yet?”

“Yeah, Rosa. We are calling her Rosa.”

“That’s nice..... that’s nice, isn’t it? Now, what can I do for you?” asked Mycroft.

“Yeah, Mycroft, listen, just wondering if you know where Sherlock is? He sent a text ten days ago saying he was going overseas. When is he coming back?” words coming out in a rush. God, he hated talking to that pompous asshole.

“Oh! I thought you knew. Sherlock is in India.”

“ _India_! Why? Is it a case? How come he didn’t say anything. We were together just a day before he left!”

“Well I can’t speak for him. But yes, he is in India. No, not a case, visiting a _friend_.”

“ _Friend_!” gasped John, unable to reign in his surprise.

“Yes, a friend.”

“I didn’t know he had any friends in India!”

“It is hard to know everything about Sherlock , isn’t it?” said Mycroft. “And I don’t know when he will be back. He told me he wanted to spend some time alone with _Kesh_ , just a friendly social visit” Mycroft’s voice purred, like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth, stressing on the word _Kesh._

 _“_ Sherlock doesn’t do _social_ visits,” John snorted in reply.

“Well, that’s obviously not true, is it?”

“Right, well. Thanks for that.”

“No problems at all, John. Would you like to pass on a message to him?”

“No, that’s all right. Just wondering, that’s all. Thanks for that.” said John as he hung up.

Mycroft ended the call with a deep satisfaction. Yes, yes. _Petty_ to feel this smug, but God damn, _yes_!

For the umpteenth time he removed the carefully kept photographs from the file on his desk. His operative in India had been instructed to keep an eye on Sherlock and send an occasional report. He had also been strictly told not to intrude or interfere. His first report arrived yesterday and Mycroft was filled with satisfaction.

The first photograph showed Sherlock, wearing only folded trousers, standing among a group of youngsters, an unfinished structure in the background. He was in the midst of what looked like a guffaw, head thrown back in abandon, mouth open and eyes shining with delight. Kesh stood close by also grinning, eyes fixed on Sherlock, an amused tender look on his face which Mycroft hoped he was interpreting correctly.  After all, they _were_ standing close, hands just inches from each other.

The second photograph showed Sherlock applying paint to a wall, on a sunny afternoon,  hair mussed, an obvious drop of sweat rolling down his temple, brow furrowed in concentration.

The third photograph showed him swimming in a river, caught mid stroke, water splashes evident, looking happy. Kesh sat on the banks, cross legged and appeared to be yelling out something to Sherlock.

Mycroft looked at the photographs again and again till his vision blurred, running loving fingers over that treasured face and sighed with contentment.

 

                                                                                ***

 

The sun was starting to get lower in the horizon when Sherlock woke up, eyes still dreamy and looking at the swaying tree branches above. He gave a lazy full body stretch and then turned his head, looking for Kesh.

Kesh sat at the edge of the clearing, back resting against a huge rock, his profile looking serene and peaceful, gazing into the distance at the snow clad peaks. Sherlock smiled and lifted himself in a lithe movement, pulling his trousers and shirt on, buttoning them as he walked towards Kesh. At the crunch of his footsteps, Kesh turned with a welcoming smile, “You slept well…. We need to leave in a bit, Sherlock. We need to reach Chopta before it gets dark.”

 Sherlock stood in front of him, looking down at his face tenderly, “Soon."

He then dropped neatly between his legs and sat down, leaning his back against Kesh’s chest.

They sat quietly looking into the distance without saying a word, Kesh’s hands in his hair, as he turned his head from time to time to plant soft kisses on Kesh’s chest.

After a while, Kesh said, “I used to come here when I was 18. Almost every other day. Sometimes I used to camp overnight. To think….To meditate….To calm myself…. To figure things out.”

Sherlock pulled on one arm and held Kesh’s hand close to his lips, kissing gently. “What happened?”

Kesh bent his head down to kiss Sherlock’s hair, “You know my parents died when I was 11. Well, there was a lot of money involved and there was a struggle to get my custody. Mainly between my father’s two brothers and my mother’s brother.  The family ended up sending me to a boarding school in Nainital. I would come to my uncle’s house for school holidays, but the rest of the time _they_ managed the money and the business.”

“They were good people, don’t get me wrong. Just obsessed with money and prestige. It was when I was 17, had finished school and about to join college, that the whole nastiness erupted. Constant fights, legal challenges, everyone wanting a piece of the pie. I was to be of age soon and they had to figure out a solution, find some loophole, to get what they wanted.”

Sherlock moved to angle himself so that he could lean on a strong muscled thigh. He tucked his extended legs under another bent knee. He looked at Kesh intently, but said nothing.

“I was….. not happy. I could not understand how all my relatives were fighting over money, factories, assets. It seemed so _inconsequential_ , as if it had any meaning in life. I could not understand so I was unhappy. On my eighteenth birthday, I called everyone together. I gave all of them what they wanted.... as much money, property they wanted. And then asked everyone to leave. That’s when I started coming here. _To think_.”

“You just gave it away? Not many people would have done that..... it must have been a lot of money,” said Sherlock, entwining Kesh’s fingers with his own in a show of silent support.

“What is the price of peace of mind, Sherlock? Tell me,” said Kesh gently as he bent his head to place a soft kiss on Sherlock’s forehead. “You had none, just a few days ago, what would you have given to have it back?”

“Anything…. _everything_.”

“Exactly.  Money, things, people all come and go. But calmness and peace of mind, they are the most important thing in life. _”_

Sherlock was silent as he looked at the mountains, brow furrowed.

“But even after they left, I was not happy. I felt confused,” continued Kesh. “I looked around at people and couldn’t make sense of anything. Poor people wanted money, rich people wanted more. No one was happy. Where material things were aplenty, all manner of interpersonal relationships caused all manner of problems. What to talk of sickness, death, calamity? I did not want to live like that. I was young, life in front of me. It felt important to me that I understand.”

“What happened next?”Sherlock asked, turning to face him again, looking intently.

“I read everything I could of what Masters had to say. Of ancient India, Buddhism, other faiths. I looked around, with the specific purpose of understanding human behavior. I amassed a lot of book knowledge, but it still felt incomplete, sublime though it was. And then, I started thinking about myself, contemplating on myself.  _Meditating._ I would spend hours alone. Come here and stay for a few nights at a time with only nature for company. My thinking became subtler as I continued, my understanding deeper, my happiness more centered. It was the most intense year of my life.”

Sherlock’s grip on Kesh’s hand tightened as he pulled their entwined fingers closer and kissed tenderly and then held them against his cheek, as he listened.

“I had thought that was the hard part. But it wasn’t. I re-entered so to speak, the world, civilization.”

“Why is that harder?”

“Because to understand something intellectually, is easy. Much harder is _application_  in day to day life, in everyday situations. When you are alone and talking hypothetically, anyone can be the wisest man. But to translate that into right action, requires vigilance, a constant alertness, a willingness to commit to the knowledge, an abiding deep love for the practice of it. To fall daily, recognize the mistake, pick yourself up and try harder. You see Sherlock, the world is a very attractive place, with promises of pleasure and happiness at every turn. It is the easiest thing to forget your goal, to think you have found something better. That is why it is hard.”

He fell silent for a while, as Sherlock continued to caress his hands absently as he thought.

Coming to a decision, Sherlock turned his head, his face solemn, “Kesh, will you teach me how to meditate?”

Kesh silently looked at Sherlock and then cupped his face, tilting it up with warm adoring hands. He looked at each part of his face lovingly and bent down to place soft gentle kisses on his forehead. He rested his lips against Sherlock’s hair and breathed him deeply. He was silent for a long time. Sherlock stayed with his head bent forward, waiting. Kesh’s silences sometimes spoke to him more than his words.

Eventually he drew back, cupping Sherlock’s face. He searched Sherlock’s face for any hesitation, any nonchalance. A deeply interested, calm face looked back unwaveringly.

“It would be my privilege, Sherlock,”he finally responded.

He drew back further letting go of Sherlock and standing up watched the distant peaks for a while. . Sherlock settled back on the rock and patiently crossed his legs as he waited. Kesh faced him finally and with a smile, came and sat facing Sherlock.

“Actually, you have many of the qualifications needed to achieve success in this practice. You have a naturally _contemplative_ mind, able to look inwards rather than outwards. You have a keen, incisive and _subtle intellect_ able to pierce through layers of superfluous irrelevant things to get to what is important. You have a heightened self _awareness_. You have the capacity for intense _focus_ and concentration. You have the _stubbornness_ to stick to the path, because you will want to win over any obstacles.......So yes, I will. Understand this though, no one can teach anyone anything worth knowing, Sherlock. Yes, I can tell you about my experiences.”

“Let me tell you my understanding of meditation. You can think about it, reflect on it. And when you are ready, we can take it from there.

 “Let me clear some misconceptions. Meditation is _not_ the art of twisting the body, it is the practice of straightening the mind. It is _not_ something that is to be scheduled for an hour in an otherwise busy life. It is a 24/7 preoccupation. It is _not_ sitting in a pose and concentrating on abstract things, it is a way of life. It is _not_ a practice of psychology, where you understand yourself and try to validate the emotions you are feeling. It is _not_ a means to an end, it is in its highest stages it is _the_ goal in itself.”

Kesh smiled as he watched Sherlock’s eyes darting, as if chasing the words with his eyes.

He said gently, “Sherlock, the sun is about to set. We should start walking now. Vedant will be waiting.”

Sherlock rose absently, slowly coming back to the present. With a still serious look on his face, he walked up to Kesh. He looked at his face for a long while, opening his mouth twice to say something, then closed it again. His face softened, as he leaned forward to kiss Kesh, all soft lips and gentle sighs, arms around his friend.

"Thank you for today, Kesh. It has been one of the most beautiful days of my life.”

Kesh returned the embrace and said softly, “Mine too, Sherlock, mine too.”

 

                                                                                To be continued……………


	8. Maa Phaleshu- Never the fruit....

“Sherlock uncle, Sherlock uncle…….please wake up,” the panicked child’s voice cried out as small hands pulled at Sherlock’s much bigger ones.

The words penetrated Sherlock’s consciousness as he opened his eyes to see Mahesh’s tear stained face peering down at him. He snapped into full alertness, “What is it, Mahesh?”

The child was sobbing, tears flowing down his cheeks, breath hitching, distressed eyes looking at Sherlock. Leaping off the bed, pulling his trousers and t-shirt on, Sherlock said in a firm voice, a gentle hand on the child’s head, “What is it, Mahesh?”

“They are downstairs…. So many of them…..they have come to take Meera didi away……Kesh bhaiyya is talking to them, but they have big sticks, and there are so many of them...”

“Stay here,Mahesh. Don’t worry. I will go down,” said Sherlock as he opened the door. “ Stay here,” he repeated as he closed the door softly and flew down.

A clamour of  loud voices emanated from the lawn. Darting his eyes around the living room and finding it empty with no signs of disturbance, he entered the kitchen swiftly, looked around and seized a knife. He slid it in his left trouser pocket his fist curled around it, as he slowly walked outside.

In less than the amount of time he took to take three steps, Sherlock’s eyes darted around to take all possible details of the scene before him.

Eleven men, _two old, four middle aged, five young; four with large wooden rods....one shouting to old man’s left, forty five, poor, right handed, rod six inch diameter, bamboo, clenched grip, furious, scar over one eye, womanizer; old man in center, crying, palms joined,  limp right leg, no weapons, also poor; to his left…._

Standing opposite them were, _Uddhav--angry, pulse throbbing right temple, clenched fists, yelling back, stance aggressive; Partha-- red faced, right hand holding axe, brass alloy, well sharpened, forearm muscles flexing menacingly; Shankar-- seven inch bamboo rod, left handed, looking belligerent; Vedant-- pudgy body a mass of hostility, fury on his usually benign countenance._

In the midst, standing next to Uddhav, his profile becoming visible as Sherlock neared, was Kesh _. Grim face, devoid of anger or antagonism, listening, normal breath rate, pupils normal, stance open._

The atmosphere was tense.

He came and stood by Kesh, calmly looking at the enraged group, hands clasped behind his back in studied nonchalance, rocking slightly on his heels.

“Joining me?” Kesh asked. Sherlock replied with a tight smile, “Always." Kesh nodded.

The man with the rod hissed furiously, waving the bamboo rod as he spoke, ” Don’t think we don’t know your tricks. You took Meera away two months ago. Poor Madhav...” He gestured to the agitated old man in the center. “He was unable to say anything, because you rich people know how to scare us poor people away.”

Uddhav retorted through clenched teeth, shaking with rage, “No one took Meera away. She came with Hrishikesh out of her own will. In fact it was Madhav who was getting her married against her wishes.”

Another man glowered and pointed an accusing finger at Kesh. “What do you mean against her will? Madhav is her father. He has a complete right to decide her future and whom she marries. What do her _wishes_ have to do with anything. I am telling you, Uddhav, you don’t know all the facts.”

A third man came out from behind Madhav and shouted, “The whole town knows that Meera was taken by Hrishikesh on her wedding day. We know what happened. It is common knowledge that she is being kept here against her wishes. Who knows what has been going on in this house, what he's been doing to Meera?” There was disgust in his voice, a sneer on his face.

Sherlock listened, busy eyes darting everywhere, body taut and coiled. But he stayed silent, ready to intervene if Kesh deemed it necessary. He caught a movement out of the corner of his eyes and angled himself to better observe. A young furious looking man was dragging Meera outside, tears rolling down her eyes as she struggled to get out of his firm grip on her wrist.

He was yelling aloud for everyone to hear, “You whore! We have found you now and we are taking you back. How dare you defy your father and stay over here with this man.”

Sherlock neatly sidestepped and intervened. He grabbed the man's hand and extended the wrist painfully with one hand. While the man let out a howl, arching his body in pain, he grabbed Meera's free wrist and pulled her behind him. Once she was safe, he heaved the man with ferocity into the motley group.  Meera cowered behind Sherlock, clutching at Sherlock's shirt with her trembling hand.

The man let out an enraged cry and got up, ready to launch an attack on Sherlock, but was stopped by the scarred man who yelled in anger, “Enough! This has to be sorted out right now! Who knows what has been going on in this house? This Hrishikesh...." he glowered at Kesh. "He found a young beautiful girl and brought her here. Who knows what he has been doing to her? And now we find that this foreigner has been staying here as well," He glared at Sherlock, “He may be raping her every night for all we know,” he waved his bamboo rod around looking at everyone for support, before pointing an accusing finger at Kesh. “This Hrishikesh and this foreigner might be molesting her every night, for all we know. Maybe taking turns in raping her.”

With a loud bellow an infuriated Partha ran forward, and before anyone could react he held his axe to the man’s throat, murder in his eyes, “Take that back. Take that back, _right now_. You do _not_ talk about Hrishikesh bhaiyya and Sherlock Sir like that. I will kill you, if you don't take that back.”

“ _Enough_! Partha, step down,” Kesh's voice was stern, uncompromising.

Partha's eyes flicked from Kesh to the man and back. He let go reluctantly, limbs trembling with suppressed anger but eyes lowered obediently.

Meera moved away from Sherlock, to hide behind Kesh.

“Madhav, why don’t you ask your daughter yourself, if she has been treated with anything but respect in this house?” suggested Kesh, voice calm, reasonable.

Meera peered from behind Kesh’s shoulder and glowering at her father and all the men, her chest heaving with emotion, she said, “Why should I have to tell anyone anything? Did anyone come and help me, besides Hrishikesh bhaiyya and Uddhav, when you were marrying me against my wishes?” She sneered and looked pointedly at Madhav, “You call yourself a father and yet were willing to give me away to that fifty year old man, with two previous wives…”

“Madhav, you have heard what Meera has said. What do you have to say?” Uddhav chimed in.

Folding his palms in front of his chest respectfully, the distraught old man cried out, “Hrishikesh, I know that you are a good man. I know that you think I have wronged Meera. But I have five daughters. All the young men ask for so much dowry. Tell me where will a poor man like me find so much money? And she is at a marriageable age, everyone will question if she does not get married soon." Tears poured from his eyes, his frail body shook, "And now she came and stayed here for two months. With you. _Alone_. There is no other woman in the house! And now this foreigner is also staying here. People are talking about it. A young girl with two young men. Everyone is questioning her virtue, no one is ready to marry her.” He wept loudly.

Sherlock stood quietly, watching the unfamiliar cultural exchange, bemused. He glanced at Kesh who was looking at Madhav, his expression full of understanding and compassion.

“Madhav, Meera is a wonderful lady. If and when she wants to marry, she should not have a problem. But please understand, this is up to her to decide.”

“But her reputation is ruined! Who will marry her?” Madhav demanded, his face anguished.

Uddhav stepped forward, his demeanor calmer, “Madhav, as Hrishikesh said, Meera is a wonderful lady. _Anyone_ would be lucky to marry her. Why are you worrying?”.

Madhav looked miserable, “Who will marry her? A young woman who has lived with _two_ men? Everyone thinks she is sullied, she has no virtue left. Who will marry such a girl? Would you marry her?”

Uddhav's response was spontaneous, sincere, “In a heartbeat, if she would have me.”

Meera’s gasp was loud, as she covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes wide. Everyone gaped at Uddhav in disbelief. A hushed silence fell as everyone looked at each other. Everyone _except_ Kesh and Sherlock. They stood tall, side by side, unperturbed, watchful and in control; like a single immovable wall as a myriad of emotions swirled and raged around them.

The silence continued as the crowd seemed to be re-evaluating its options. Madhav's eyes darted incredulously between Uddhav and Meera, who stood staring at Uddhav with unblinking wide eyes.

Finally Kesh stepped forward and put a gentle hand on Madhav's frail shoulders, his tone firm. “Madhav, you have come into my home and insulted a lady under my protection. She is 23 years old and even if she is your daughter, she has a right to decide her future. You have come into my home and insulted an esteemed guest. Some day you will realize the error you have made. For now, I suggest you leave with your goons, all of whom are less than exemplary examples of humanity, as we know from their own personal domestic situations. If and when Meera gets married, I will make sure you are informed. Whether you decide to come and bless her, is up to you. If you or your goons chose to escalate the situation or bring any harm to anyone, I will bring the wrath of the police and God on you. And on your goons. Now please, leave.”

 

                                                                                ***

Half an hour later, the crowd had dissipated. Everyone sat drinking tea in the downstairs living room, the mood somber, introspective.

Kesh sat, holding a subdued Mahesh in his lap and cradled to his chest, stroking his hair gently. Haridas, rattled with the events, kept shooting concerned glances at Kesh and Sherlock. Partha and Shankar had been sent away. Uddhav sat with his head bowed, mulling over the events, regretting his outburst. He kept looking worriedly at Kesh from time to time, waiting for his friend’s reaction. _I should not have yelled, should have kept my calm. I hope Kesh is not upset with me....._. Meera sat on the floor near the kitchen door, her eyes lowered, sneeking glances at Kesh, waiting for him to say something. _All because of me....this is all because of me....Bhaiyya had to hear such things....he must regret the day he brought me here....what can I do? What should I do?..._

Sherlock stood leaning against a wall by the window, intrigued, a faint smile on his face. He _observed_.

Tea things cleared away, Kesh finally said, “Haridas, take Mahesh with you.”

Mahesh giving one last reluctant squeeze and then left Kesh’s lap dutifully.

Kesh looked at Meera, his voice mild, “Meera, come here."

Meera got up and walked slowly towards Kesh. She slid down and gracefully knelt in front of Kesh, looking up at him, her expression timid, yet confident. _Bhaiyya will know what to do...._

Kesh spoke. “Please do not feel that you need to do anything. You know you are a valued part of this family and will continue to be so. Your life is your own and I will fight with anyone who chooses to take that right away from you. And don’t worry about your safety from those thugs. You are safe here. If you feel unsafe, I will buy you a house in whichever city you chose and you can make your life there.”

Meera folded her palms respectfully, “Bhaiyya, I never doubted that. And I am very grateful to here, very happy to be a part of your family." She hesitated, biting her lips as she thought. "But Uddhav made a proposition and I need to know your opinion about it. Please bhaiyya, tell me what you think.”

Kesh chuckled warmly, “That is up to you to decide. But you have asked for my opinion.” He glanced at the mute Uddhav and said softly, “In my opinion, Uddhav is a very good man and would be well suited to you.”

She looked at him silently for a while. Then bowing her head respectfully, she stood up.

To everyone’s surprise she approached Sherlock next. Sherlock looked at her, puzzled.

Standing in front of him, she brought her palms together and bowed her head. She looked up again, tears swimming in her eyes, her voice emotional but dignified. “Sherlock sir, you are a very dear friend to Kesh bhaiyya. More than that, you are an honoured guest in this house…….” She took a deep breath and continued in a subdued voice, “Sir, today, because of me, you had to hear such uncouth words directed against you. Please forgive me. And please forgive my father and all those men.”

Sherlock stared at her, this young, graceful woman who'd done nothing wrong……  Apropos of apparently nothing, he thought of Irene Adler for a split second. Another beautiful woman, naked and unabashed, sensual and predatory…. _How was I so blind…. What else did I not see? Stupid, stupid_ ….

He gravely inclined his head in acknowledgement and murmured softly, “It was not your fault. You are not responsible for the behaviour of others.”

“With all due respect, Sherlock sir, it is always a collective responsibility,” she said cryptically, “Please forgive me.”

Sherlock shook his head, surprised to find a sudden lump in his throat. He pulled himself up to his full presence, his voice solemn, “If it means so much to you, I accept your regret, Meera.”

As she wiped her eyes with her small hands, Meera looked for a while like a young child. She smiled shyly at Sherlock and then turned to walk slowly towards Uddhav.

Uddhav swallowed nervously as he stood up.

She stared up at him, her voice clear, almost challenging, “I am an uneducated, simple village girl. I am not versed in the sophisticated ways of your life. My only skills are domestic. I am willful and stubborn and will never blindly follow your orders.” She tilted her chin up, and continued in a fiery voice, “But I am also loving and fiercely loyal. I know how to save money and run a house with little means. And I can learn to use knives and forks and any other skills you think I need to have. And most of all, once I commit to you, I will never leave your side.”

She paused and continued in a softer tone, “Bhaiyya thinks we should get married. For me, any words from Kesh bhaiyya are an injunction from God himself. I know you feel the same respect for his words. Did you mean it, when you said you would marry me?”

Uddhav only managed to nod his head vigorously, still unable to speak. An amused snort escaped Sherlock as he looked at Uddhav’s flushed, embarrassed face. Kesh looked at them gravely, his eyes twinkling as he suggested gently, “Uddhav, perhaps you two should have this discussion in private?”

As soon as Uddhav and Meera were out of earshot, Sherlock and Kesh burst out laughing. They made their way upstairs.

 

                                                                                ***

The sun was setting in the horizon, as Sherlock and Kesh sat on the broad marble tops of the balustrades lining the balcony, legs dangling down. Sherlock was looking at the streaks of crimson clouds lining the horizon as he reflected upon the day’s events. Kesh sat quietly, stealing occasional glances at Sherlock’s face. They had just had some tea, dinner was a while away and both were relaxing after the day’s events. A tranquil contemplative mood engulfed them, as a gentle breeze swayed the surrounding vegetation and the birds finished their final forays for the day.

“Why don't you feel angry, disappointed?” Sherlock asked finally, his tone curious. Kesh flicked his eyes at him, but stayed quiet. Sherlock turned to face his friend. “You saved Meera from a miserable future, you've secured her future by giving her sanctuary and your support. But instead of being lauded for this, her father and so many of their people came with sticks to beat you. How is that a fair outcome?”

Kesh stayed quiet for a few more moments before responding. “Sherlock a result of any action is just that, _a_ result. Fair or unfair, favorable or unfavorable, desired or hated, is just the _labels_ we apply to it, a value judgement that we pass.”

At Sherlock’s frown, he elaborated further, “Every action that you do is under your control. You have a choice to do the action, to not do the action or to do the opposite action. But once it is done, it is out of your control. There is no choice in the result. There are just too many variables that influence the result, your action being just one of them. Sanity lies in doing what needs to be done, at any given moment, in any situation, without projecting a desired outcome to it.”

Sherlock turned fully towards Kesh, his legs now straddling the balustrade top rail and rested his back on the divider, as he listened with narrowed eyes.

“Let us talk about the problem of hankering after a desired result while performing an action. _First_ , when anything is done with a desired fruit in mind, your focus is diverted to that result.  _Second_ , because your focus is diverted you are never going to be able to give your best. _Third_ , you are constantly living in the future, because the result is in the future only. _Fourth_ , if the result turns out not to be what you want, you are setting yourself up for grief. _Fifth_ , you lose sight of the fact that the fruit of a result is just that, a fruit, so called because it is _perishable_.

He leaned towards Sherlock as he explained further. “Take for example a young student studying for an exam. He wants good grades. He is worried about his grades. He is living in fear of what will happen if he does not get good grades. He is unable to focus on what he should be doing right _now_ , which is studying.”

Sherlock’s frown deepened as he thought this through, “But if you don’t think about or work towards a desired result, what is the point of doing the action at all?”

Kesh smiled eagerly, “Because it is what a situation demands. You have been put in a position where Totality demands an appropriate action from you. For example, I was put in a position where Meera needed my help. It was the right thing to do, at that time. I did it. End of story. Sherlock, this is the only sane way to live life. People go around their whole life, living either in their _past_ with their memories, resentments, regrets or live in the _future_ with their expectations, worries, fears. To live in the _present_ , do what needs to be done and move to the next moment. This is _living._ The moment you start living like this, you will find a few things happen. “

Kesh jumped off and paced as he talked, hands waving about, as he clarified further.

“Apply this to any action, diligently, and you yourself can test the veracity of what I am saying. You become exceedingly _skilled_ in whatever you do, because you are doing it with your entire being. There is no room for _grief,_ because you have not anticipated or insisted in a specific outcome. You are _peaceful_ all the time, because you know you have done the best, your emotions are not scattered and muddled. And the responsibility of the outcome is not yours anymore. As you practice this, you develop an _equanimity_ in your being. As you further your attempts to take every event, good or bad, in an equanimous manner , you will find your _ego_ erodes.”

Sherlock eyes darted as they chased each point that Kesh was making to it's logical conclusion, his intellect absorbing every word--dissecting, analysing.

“Once the ego starts eroding, Sherlock, then you are on the journey _home_. It is the ego, this periphery, this persona that is created around the true brilliant center of yourself, this ego which is the cause of every misery in life. All actions and thoughts that proceed from the ego, from your periphery are inherently flawed. Once the action and thoughts starts flowing from the pristine centre of yourself, they are just as flawless and pristine. Sherlock, you talk of results. What does it matter? It is entirely the wrong thing to focus on. Your _action_ , the only thing you have a choice over, that is where the focus should be……”

They sat for a long time talking, debating-- Sherlock questioning, probing….Kesh explaining,clarifying…..

 

                                                                                ***

 

Darkness enveloped most of the terrace, the only light coming from the lamp in Kesh’s room, a warm glow of dispersed light through the translucent curtains.

Sherlock sat on the sofa divan, long legs perched across the coffee table with his ankles crossed, moving in a gentle rhythm, as he rocked Kesh’s head which lay on his lap. His long, delicate fingers ran through Kesh’s hair as he listened to his friend. They had been talking for three hours. From time to time, Sherlock’s fingers halted as he asked Kesh to elaborate or got caught up in his own argument, hands moving around, his eyes focused. From time to time, Kesh held Sherlock's hand, kissing his palm or stroking his face, as he answered Sherlock's questions or explained his reasoning. From time to time, they stayed silent, as they contemplated, reflected on the other's words. From time to time, one of them stood up and paced about as he talked animatedly.

Haridas had come and gone, like a mother hen, clucking about dinner, but neither was hungry nor willing to pause their conversation.

“Sherlock, think of this world like a giant classroom. Every single moment, we are being taught lessons. Sometimes several lessons at the same time,” said Kesh softly, as he held Sherlock’s hand, “There are no mistakes, _only lessons_. Even a failed experiment teaches you something! A lesson is _repeated_ in various forms till it is thoroughly learned. When it is learned, you move on to the next lesson. Periodically, lessons are _re-presented_ to you to see if you still remember them. There is no point in life when lessons are not being offered. If you are alive, lessons are being offered. “

“And remember this Sherlock, all answers come from within you. If you continue to look outside yourself, more and more lessons are added. Until you learn to look _within_. And to learn to look within, you have to contemplate, reflect, _meditate_ incessantly.  ”

Sherlock leaned back on the sofa, his head tilted up as he let his mind wrap around this. After a while, he said softly, “Kesh, can I join you tomorrow morning when you meditate?”

“Absolutely. But you will have to wake up early!” he warned.

“That is never a problem,” said Sherlock shrugging his shoulders.

Kesh sighed deeply as he said reluctantly, “I need to go in now. I have a conference call with Craig and Judy in half an hour. I think it will continue for at least two hours. Maybe you should have some food and sleep."

Sherlock was quiet for a few moments and then slowly gathered Kesh in his arms. Bending down he kissed the corner of his lips and murmured, “Oh, I think I will stay up for you."

“Why?” asked Kesh in a husky voice.

“Because I want you.”

“You can have me, Sherlock. You already have me,” said Kesh softly.

Sherlock firmed his kiss, savoring the feel of Kesh’s mobile mouth under his, his tongue taking a lazy inventory of Kesh's mouth, his hand sliding down to to cup Kesh's arse, pulling him closer. Kesh whimpered as he responded eagerly. Finally Sherlock had his fill, he rumbled seductively into Kesh's ear, “Oh, don't worry, Kesh. I will have you. In every way. In every sense. Repeatedly.” A delicate shiver of arousal went through Kesh as he burrowed his face in Sherlock's neck.

Sherlock chuckled and held him close for a little while. Then pulling back, he grinned, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. He poked his tongue out provocatively at him and wiggled it suggestively. “Today I am going to introduce you to the joys of _fe-ll-a-tio,_ ” he drawled as he enunciated each syllable separately. “I want you to know the pleasure of having my mouth wrapped around you as you pulse and come in it,” he nibbled at Kesh’s earlobe as he whispered.

Kesh seemed to stop breathing, his eyes wide. Sherlock laughed and suddenly pushed one finger to Kesh’s belly and poked him, “My shy Kesh! Oh the things I want to do to you.” He kept tickling and Kesh bent into double, trying to escape, peals of laughter breaking out involuntarily as he struggled to stay on the divan as Sherlock kept tickling him. Eventually he slid down and both of them of them were panting with laughter.

As they caught their breath, Sherlock smiled fondly. He said quietly, “I will wait up for you. Come to bed when you are done, my Kesh.”

 

                                                                                To be continued………….


	9. Nehabhikramanashoshti-Never a loss....

The smell of jasmine wafted all around the terrace, spurred on by the gentle breeze. It was the deepest dark before dawn, a profound silence reigned.

Seated under the banyan tree, Sherlock adjusted himself to emulate Kesh’s posture. Cross legged, straight spine, hands relaxed, palms resting on his lap. Unlike Kesh, he had chosen to wear a t-shirt; he was reluctant to be distracted by  the cold.

Seated opposite him Kesh smiled as he watched approvingly. 

Sherlock looked at Kesh expectantly, brow furrowed, scruffy long curls in disarray. He sat still like a marble statue, looking like a pale vision against the backdrop of the midnight blue sky; the only colour on his body came from his brilliant blue-grey eyes, which shone with deep intelligence and intent.

“At Chopta, I told you everything that meditation is not. I now want to tell you about everything that meditation _is,”_ intoned Kesh, his voice soft, mellifluous. “It is the _most selfish_ practice in the world. You can only ever do it for yourself. It can _never_ benefit anyone else. It is the one practice, where no effort is _ever_ lost. Even the least bit of effort reaps huge dividends. It is the practice, which as you progress will permanently and completely remove all fundamental grief from your life.”

Sherlock’s focused gaze, became even more so as his eyes narrowed. A long period of silence followed, both sat still, lost in contemplation.

“The mind is like a monkey, Sherlock. Leaping high like a drunkard from one branch to another, from one thought to another. From minute to minute your thoughts, opinions, desires, what motivates you changes. What is the point on trying to understand it? In the _initial stages_ it is important to focus on it, to understand it. But ultimately you need to align all the diverse and scattered domains of your mind, into a pinpoint focus, so that they cease bothering you. You have to transcend the mind. As you progress, you have to pierce this veil and go beyond the mind, to recognize that you are neither your body, nor your mind, nor your intellect.”

Sherlock look startled, and stared at Kesh. His eyes flashed, as he demanded, “Then _who am I_?”

“Ah, finally _the_ question,” Kesh said, smiled softly, “The _only_ goal of meditation. To find out, who you are…….”

In soft murmurs he instructed Sherlock. Sherlock closed his eyes and let that voice, those words fill him, suffuse him with wisdom and knowledge, envelop his being till he felt like he was glowing.....

They sat for a long time. Stillness surrounded them, as if only the two existed in the world. The day slowly dawned unnoticed. Birds woke up, chirping and flying around, the sun’s rays painted the vista into a beautiful gold, bathing the two men as though in benediction.

 

                                                                                ***

 

“No, thank you,” said Sherlock, as he declined the offer of a second cup of tea with a warm smile. “That was delicious. Thank you.”

Uddhav’s mother smiled and took the cups away, nodding her head, too shy to talk with the foreigner.

They were at Uddhav’s house in Rudraprayag, a modest small apartment.

Earlier that day............

_“Kesh, Kesh,” Uddhav called out excitedly as he looked for him._

_“I’m in here,” Kesh answered from his room._

_Bounding up the stairs, two at a time, an animated Uddhav burst into the room. Nodding at Sherlock, he looked at Kesh with a beaming smile. “She said yes! Meera has agreed to the marriage!”_

_Kesh leaped off his chair with a cry of delight and wrapped his friend in a hug, eyes twinkling with happiness. “That is great. I knew it!”_

_“We thought maybe, we can have the wedding the same time as Radha, next week. Everything is in place for the wedding anyways. We will just inform the guests that both brother and sister are getting married on the same day!”_

_“Good idea! There will be a lot of preparations to make though. Take whoever you need, Vedant, Haridas, Partha…… And take whatever money you need from the account.” Turning to Sherlock, he said smiling, “Sherlock I can’t wait to take you to an Indian wedding. You will enjoy it so much.”_

_Sherlock stood up from the chair, and walked towards Uddhav, a warm smile on his face, “Let me congratulate you, Uddhav. And let us know if there is anything we can do to help. Kesh and I are at your service.”_

_“Your presence will be enough, Sherlock. I cannot believe this is happening," Uddhav laughed, overcome with excitement and disbelief._

Now, they were visiting Uddhav’s elderly mother to discuss the wedding preparations. Her elation spilled in every expression of her kindly round face. “Kesh, I understand Meera’s family may not participate in the wedding. You are her only family. She will need clothes, jewellery and other things. Uddhav and I thought that if it meets your approval, we could get Radha to help her get ready.”

“Splendid! Tell Radha to get whatever is needed. Money is not a problem.”

Sherlock gestured to Kesh and asked, “If you are going to be a while longer, can I take Vedant and the car with me? I want to go into the town, there are some things I need.”

“That’s all right, Sherlock. You go on home from there, I will catch up with you later.”

                                                                                ***

 

“Sherlock, please……Oh God, Sherlock…….” Kesh gasped. His body was covered with a thin sheen of sweat, racing heartbeat visible on his chest, hands clutching at the bedsheets, twisting them in knots, as he keened .

Sherlock’s lips were wrapped around his hot aching shaft, his hands rolled his testicles around. He opened his mouth wider as he took all of Kesh's length until his nose was buried in his pubic hair, nostrils flaring as he breathed in the raw masculine musk of sweat and arousal. As he applied greater suction, Kesh arched, a hand fluttering to gently fall on Sherlock’s head. Sherlock withdrew till only the thick swollen cockhead stretched his lips, swirling his tongue around Kesh’s slit, wrapping a hand around the glistening root. And then he plunged back down.

To Kesh it seemed like Sherlock had been playing with him for hours, keeping him just at the edge of orgasm. His mind felt like it had gone on a holiday; awareness narrowed down to the heat of Sherlock's mouth and the uncontrolled gasps and cries that escaped him.

Sherlock let go of him with a pop, a seductive smile on his face as he watched and waited for Kesh to catch his breath. He moved up, lips kissing, fingers brushing Kesh’s cleft in fluttering touches, until he reached Kesh’s mouth. He kissed with wet lips, tongue jostling with Kesh's, allowing Kesh to taste and smell himself.

He slowly withdrew his lips and looked at Kesh’s dazed eyes, gently petting his stomach. “Kesh, I want to do something, if it's okay with you?” he whispered.

Kesh looked up, eyes filled with love and trust and need, “Whatever you want.”

Moving off the bed abruptly, Sherlock walked up to the bathroom and came back with a tube full of lube. Waving it at Kesh as he climbed back in to hold Kesh close, his voice a breathy whisper against Kesh's lips, “Want to enter you with just my fingers today. Alright?"

“Okay,” came the soft reply.

Sherlock smeared lube liberally on his index finger and bent down to kiss Kesh again. He slid the wet digit down and parting his cheeks, he massaged the lube around Kesh’s opening. Gentle caresses, just on the outside. Kesh’s heart rate rocketed as Sherlock looked at him, eyes darting all over, “Okay?”

A look of disbelief and awe flashed on Kesh’s face. Sherlock frowned, “What is it, Kesh?”

Sherlock kissed his lips even as his finger continued its slow exploration of Kesh’s cleft, up and down and swirling around his anus. “What is it, Kesh?” he repeated, rubbing noses tenderly.

“Nothing, its fine,” said Kesh with a shy smile.

“It feels good, Kesh….I’ll make you feel good.”

“I know.”

“I won’t hurt you.”

“I know.”

Watching Kesh with puzzled eyes, Sherlock said, “There is something you are thinking, and not telling me. What is it, Kesh?”

A warm palm cupped Sherlock's face tenderly, “I love you.”

Sherlock turned his head to kiss the palm, "I know,” he whispered, “But why now?”

“I have loved you for so long, Sherlock. But I never imagined that a day would come when a part of you will be inside me….. It …It feels like a dream.”

Sherlock looked at him silently for a long time, at the adoring eyes looking back, at the trusting, loving face. An unexpected prickle of wetness irritated his eyes, he tried to blink it off. “My Kesh. My lovely loving Kesh……When did I become qualified for such love…..You are extraordinary……” he murmured hoarsely, as he kissed Kesh again and again.

The kisses changed from soft to insistent, as his finger probed a bit firmly. Holding Kesh’s gaze, he allowed the tip of the finger to breach the entrance. Kesh was holding his breath, moist lips parted, looking like he would like to drown inside Sherlock. With a low moan, Sherlock pushed slightly deeper, as he murmured, “Shhh….. that’s right….. let me in, I’ve got you. Relax.” Finger fully in, Sherlock probed, as he touched Kesh on the inside, pressed on the hot walls, a steady stream of “So tight, God, Kesh, so fucking tight.....mine….can’t wait to slide into you….my Kesh, relax, let go, let me feel you,” against Kesh’s panting mouth. He found and caressed his prostate, massaging it with firm strokes.

“Sherlock…..” Kesh gasped, hands gripping Sherlock’s forearm almost painfully. He buried his face deep, in the crook of Sherlock’s neck, and let out soft moans as Sherlock moved his finger, more easily now, in and out of slick opening. Sherlock gently removed the finger to add more lube, before reinserting it, and adding just the tip of the middle finger. He whispered in Kesh’s ears, “I need you in my mouth, Kesh. Want you to come in my mouth, with my fingers inside you.” Kesh nodded, so overwhelmed he couldn't speak.

Sherlock kissed and licked his way down before taking Kesh in his mouth again. He slurped and sucked and licked , as two fingers moved, now thrusting and stretching, now massaging and stroking his prostate.

Kesh gave himself up fully to Sherlock, legs spread widely, Sherlock lying in between them, his head bobbing as he slowly took Kesh apart.  Sherlock slowly ramped up the rhythm, his soft mouth and tongue, applying exquisite suction in tandem with the fingers fucking Kesh till he lost all coherence. Kesh’s hips bucked and moved, as needy moans of “Sherlock….Sherlock, please, please…..” escaped him. And then he was coming, helplessly locked in mid arch, pulsing into Sherlock’s mouth as Sherlock swallowed around him. As the tension in his body drained, Kesh slowly fell back, trembling all over, still whispering, “Sherlock….Oh my God, Sherlock….”

Wiping his mouth with his hands, Sherlock sat up on his knees, eyes urgent and hungry. Without preamble, he grasped his aching cock as he leaned over Kesh, and started stroking. Eyes locked, the pair watched each other, one sated, one desperate, as squelching noises proceeded from Sherlock’s strokes. Kesh looked up, eyes dazed, a silent question with his eyes. “God, yes,” rasped Sherlock.

Kesh extended his hand to join Sherlock’s and clasped around his as they both stroked Sherlock's length. Sherlock’s other hand moved over Kesh’s chest, as he rubbed and teased his nipples. He raised it further to plunge two fingers into Kesh’s mouth. Eyes fixed on the mouth, as both their hands became a blur around his straining cock, he panted, “ Kesh, fuck, yes, faster  Kesh….. my Kesh……I’m going to come so hard…..on you. Next time………next time I will come in your mouth, I will hold you down and fuck that mouth…..Kesh, Kesh…….Oh God, Kesh,” as he erupted, hips moving as he spurted thick white streaks all over their entwined hands and on Kesh’s belly, voice loud and hoarse with triumphant guttural sounds of pleasure.

Kesh watched as Sherlock came, toned chest glistening with sweat, head thrown back, graceful neck arching, hard neck muscles corded and tensed up, razor sharp cheekbones silhouetted around a face clenched in pleasure, like a sculpture in motion. He felt and saw the hot white liquid pulse out of Sherlock’s turgid cock. As the breathy rasps died down, Sherlock straightened his neck and looked down dreamily with moist verdigris eyes, sated and content.

_This…only this. I could look at this forever. This ethereal beauty, made more so with pleasure coursing through it. How can any one man be this perfect? I can never tire of this, watching this, I would do anything to bring him this pleasure, whenever he wants. Anything……_

Both were so mesmerized with each other, that it took a little while for them to regain their sense of surroundings. They smiled in delight, as Sherlock bent down to get his t-shirt and wipe both of them off, and to gently wipe the lube off Kesh’s cleft, before he fell bonelessly on Kesh, and nuzzled him, smiling lazily, “Kesh, my lovely Kesh….”

 

                                                                                ***

 “Jesus, that feels great,” drawled Lestrade, wiping his mouth, as he set his pitcher of ice cold lager back on the bar table. “Nothing like a cold beer in the afternoon, is there, John?”

“God, yes!” said John, smacking his lips approvingly. “Don’t usually drink in the middle of the day, but hell, its Sunday, you know?”

“So, how are Mary and Rosa? Got any photos to show me?”

“Yeah,sure. Hang on…. Fucking phones,” said John as he fiddled with his phone. Pointing and commenting on pictures as he went along, “A whole month! Its amazing how fast she is growing! Feels like just yesterday, that she was born.”

“Yeah, they do that don’t they. Soon 18 years will have passed, and it will still feel like just yesterday,” replied Lestrade with a smile. “You’re back to work then?” he continued.

“Yeah, joined two weeks ago. Can’t sit at home, you know?” John said, shrugging his shoulders. “Mary manages well with her. Nothing much left for me to do, just shop for diapers and stuff. It’s good to get out every once in a while.”

Lestrade watched his friend thoughtfully, as he took another altogether long sip of his beer.

“You’re lucky, John. I am out all the time, no time to go home! Shit it’s been a bad month. Fucking five murders, two high profile cases, I’ve got the Chief constantly hounding me. The department is stretched so thin, trying to follow up each thread of evidence.” He looked at John meaningfully, “Could have used Sherlock this month. Forgot how convenient it is to have him around. Just comes in, looks around, yells a bit, insults everyone, gives us specific leads to chase, solves the case and fucking swans out of there like a drama queen, you know?”

“Yeah, that’s what he does. Sometimes it is hard to believe he is human. Like a magician. Even wears the cape and all.....that great, big coat of his, you know?,” John snorted. “I can’t believe it. Bloody wanker just left without a word.”

They sat silent, enjoying their beer as John looked around at half empty bar, and Lestrade watched him.

“He’s not been himself since he got back, don’t you think? Looked like he was always thinking about something. Anyway, any news?”

“Nope. Called Mycroft, the day I called you. Said he is in India, visiting a friend.”

“A _friend_?”

“Yeah, my reaction exactly. Fuck, I didn’t know he had any other friends, let alone in India!”

“So when’s he coming back?”

“Mycroft didn’t know, or so he claims. Offered for me to send a message if I want to. I may do that, if I don’t hear from him soon. All I want is to know that he is okay, you know?”

“Listen, maybe Mrs Hudson knows something. We’re close to 221B, why don’t we drop by and ask her?”

“You know what, that’s a good idea, we can chip in to share a cab.”

 

                                                                                ***

 

“Hrishikesh…..Hrishikesh, wake up,” soft, urgent taps sounded on the bedroom door.

Quickly slinging a towel around his waist, Kesh opened the door to a distraught looking Haridas. “There is a phone call on the landline. Your mobile must be switched off. It is Akrur. He wants to speak to you urgently.”

Sherlock sat up in bed, sheet sliding off his naked torso as he watched Kesh get dressed. He nodded at Haridas’s namaste and waited for them to leave, to get dressed in his pajamas and t-shirt as well.

Descending the stairs he heard Kesh’s subdued voice on the phone, “Don’t worry, Akrur. I will be there in another few hours. Stay calm.”

He hung up and turned to a questioning Sherlock, a sad look on his usually cheerful face.

Sherlock strode up to him and wrapped him in his arms wordlessly. Haridas quietly left the room, leaving the two alone. Kesh sagged in Sherlock’s arms, as he held him. It felt distressing to see Kesh upset, but Sherlock waited patiently, pressing soft kisses to his head.

After a while, Kesh stepped back and said, “My Guruma has passed away. I need to go to Harsil, Sherlock.”

Sherlock stayed silent as he led Kesh to the sofa, pulling him into his spread lap. His arms enveloped Kesh, as he softly kissed his arms, his chest.

“She was old. She is the wife of my teacher, we call them _Guru_ in India. The one who taught me how to meditate, how to deal with things. She lives….lived in Harsil, it is a small village on the banks of the river Ganges, at the foothills of the mountain ranges from which the Ganges originates.”

Sherlock looked at Kesh, silently. Kesh dropped his head on Sherlock’s shoulder and took the silent comfort gratefully. After a while, he spoke, “I asked her many times to come and stay with me after my Guru passed away. But she preferred living in her small hut where she spent all her married life, especially because it is so close to the Ganges. We call Ganges, the Ganga in India,” he explained. “Akrur is her son. He looks after a Farmer’s Cooperative I set up years ago, at my Guru’s injunction. He is a good man. Married, has two teenage daughters. He is older than me by ten years.”

“I’m sorry, Kesh,” Sherlock’s deep baritone rumbled through Kesh’s body after a period of silence. Kesh pressed closer, face pressed against Sherlock’s neck as tears fell from his eyes, body shaking with his quiet sobs. Sherlock held him tight, caressing his back gently. Eventually Kesh calmed down, “She was like a mother to me. Now only Haridas is left...... I have no more elders, no one to run to when I need help or advice.” He lay on Sherlock's chest, feeling the gentle fingers in his hair, lost in thought.

After a while, he wiped his tears and stood up purposefully, “I’ll need to leave in a few minutes. They are going to keep the body till my arrival, for cremation......Sherlock, I’ll be away for at least thirteen days, I need to complete all the rituals as per the Indian tradition. Could you please let Uddhav know, that I won’t be here for the wedding?”

“I would like to come with you, Kesh,” said Sherlock as he stood up to face his friend.

“But Sherlock, it is not a place fit for you. My Guruma lives….lived in a humble mud hut. She was a simple woman, there are no amenities, nothing. We sleep under the stars there. Stay here, be comfortable, help Uddhav with the marriage preparations….” he broke off, as Sherlock shook his head.

“You are not getting it, Kesh. I _am_ coming with you. Do you think physical comforts matter that much to me? I have stayed in homeless shelters and on the streets of Lahore, Serbia, Kabul…. for months while I was tracking Moriarty’s people. My place is by your side.”

Taking a deep breath, Kesh gave a small smile, “Very well. I’ll get Haridas to call Vedant. We can pack. Haridas will let Uddhav know tomorrow.” He stepped closer, and gave Sherlock a brief hug and left to find Haridas.

 

                                                                                ***

 

“Thanks, Mrs Hudson, you are the best,” hummed John, as he accepted the freshly baked biscuits. Lestrade sitting across him, was munching away, looking around at the cramped but homely kitchen. They had been there for some time now, making small talk as a delighted Mrs Hudson bustled about making tea and chattering away.

“It is so quiet around here, now that he is not there. I keep thinking I will hear him bellowing soon, in that deep voice that he has! He just got up one day and left, suitcase and all. Yelled out to me, not to worry and that he’ll be back soon. It’s been an entire month now,” she concluded running out of breath.

Lestrade smiled obligingly, as he listened and munched. John appeared lost in his thoughts.

_Feels so strange to be here. I do not live here anymore. Yet it feels like home. Wish I could hear him yelling about something, or see him throw a tantrum….. She does not know anything……Why does it matter though? Mary and Rosa, my beautiful Rosa are waiting….. It’s time to go……didn’t even tell me he was going…._

He blinked as he came out of his reverie. Mrs Hudson looked at him considerately as she said, “Well, you told me, what Mycroft said. Maybe you can talk to him again?”

“I hate talking to bloody Mycroft,” muttered John.

“Oh, he’s not so bad, John. He came here last week, you know?”

“Oh! Why? To spy on Sherlock, while he is away, you mean?”

“Oh ,gosh no! I went up with tea and biscuits for him. He was just sitting in Sherlock’s chair with his chin in his hands. It gave me quite a fright......he was just sitting there, staring at nothing. Did not stir even when I left….. You told me he offered to pass on a message. How about you get in touch with him? He’s gone to India, not to the moon, you know?”

Taking a deep breath, John pushed his cup away, as he said thoughtfully, “Maybe I’ll do that. Maybe email him or write. You know Sherlock doesn’t like to talk much on the phone……Yes, maybe I’ll do that.”

 

 

                                                                                                To be continued……….

 


	10. Tat Tvam Asi- That thou art....

 

 

 

The body burned.

Set atop a rectangular pile of wooden logs, stiff with rigor mortis, the old, shriveled, lifeless body slowly caught fire. Aided by the gentle breeze, the flames of the still reluctant fire spread the smell of burning flesh mixed with the sandalwood essence sprinkled on the wood pile. The white sari crackled as it burned, sending sparks high into the air, competing with the musical sounds of rushing river water.

Kesh sat in the dirt, after having paid his respects, cross legged, and solemn, tears in his eyes. Sherlock sat next to him, as he observed the unfamiliar proceedings silently.

Men, all wearing white, stood around the funeral pyre, mostly mute and in a reflective silence. Women, wearing white saris, stood in a group, several feet away, many sobbing, consoling each other. Akrur, tall, slim, face covered with a white stubble, wearing a white dhoti and kurta, stood with his head bowed and tears rolling down his eyes.

The backdrop could not have possibly been more picturesque. The mighty Ganges flowed just fifty metres away, tall mountains surrounded the narrow valley entirely covered with lush green vegetation . The river bank was covered with small stones and pebbles, and further away from the clearing, there was a huge apple orchard.

Akrur came up to Kesh and bent down to whisper something. With a small nod, Kesh agreed. As Akrur straightened, Kesh closed his eyes.

And he began to chant. In the weighty silence, his lips moved to chant a stirring hymn in Sanskrit. His voice slowly rose as it progressed, majestic and otherworldly, enveloping everything. A hushed silence fell, as the crowd of people gave themselves up to the soothing, rhythmic spiritual notes.

The fire was raging now, torso lost to view in the blazing crimson flames, feet peeking out at the edges of the inferno. Two men went to put more logs around the feet, and coaxed the flames towards them.

Sherlock watched, and as he watched and listened, his eyes closed instinctively, as he surrendered;  to the soulful vibrant melody and the atmosphere which encompassed the merciless reminder of death along with the promise of perpetual existence.

Afterwards, Kesh, Akrur and three other relatives collected the still smouldering ashes with their bare hands and put it in an earthen pot. The entire assembly walked barefoot to the river, and after a short ritual scattered the ashes into the river. The assembly walked back towards the huts. Kesh and Sherlock stayed back, looking at the river flow. Kesh looked like he was far away in his thoughts as he sat down on the pebbled river bank. Sherlock sat silently next to him.

After some time he asked, “Alright?”

Kesh looked at him, and sighed, “Yes.” With a deep breath he continued, “She had led a full life, doing what she loved, with loved ones. She died of old age. What more can one ask for in life?  Death is a fact of life, part of a single duality. If you accept one, you have to accept the other." He looked back at the river and mused, "Between the two singularities of birth and death, bounty and menace, we busy ourselves as best we can." Tears rolled down his face. Sherlock shuffled closer and held him as he let go and wept.

After a while Kesh looked up and smiled ruefully, "I _know_ this, but it is still hard not to grieve." He held Sherlock's hand as he stared at the river, the surrounding mountains for a long time. "Birth, death and everything in between.......It is as though we are all held in captivity inside this huge fence. All of us busy trying to live a life, running around making relationships, building institutions and alliances, learning, fighting over personal grievances, territories, running around seeking money, fame, happiness, fulfilment.......so many ways to keep busy. Instead of focusing on the most important, the most pressing need of all." He looked up towards Sherlock, his gaze intent, questioning. "Do you know what is the most pressing need, Sherlock?"

"Studying the nature of the fence," Sherlock said softly turning to face Kesh, who nodded, satisfied. They gazed at each other, brilliant blue-grey and sparkling dark brown, a conversation without words.

Eventually, Sherlock walked back with Kesh, stones digging into his bare feet, in a thoughtful silence.

 

                                                                                ***

 

“Sherlock, lunch will be served soon. Sorry about the delay,” said Kesh as he sat down alongside Sherlock, gesturing to about twenty women who were bustling about getting food organized for the large gathering. “In India, when someone dies, it is not permitted that food be cooked in that house for thirteen days. All the food is cooked at the neighbour’s houses and brought here.”

Sherlock watched, as a flurry of white saris fluttered, as women called out to each other, pots banged with the tinkling notes of glass and metal bracelets that the women folk traditionally wore.

The front yard was covered with red dirt, swept clean, and at one end stood a square mud hut. The walls were high, covered in dried cow dung, sprigs of undigested vegetation poking out of the walls. The roof was made of thatched leaves stitched together, covered with a black tarpaulin. Lining the yard, were some trees and plants interspersed with small hills of dried cow dung shaped into patties, the size of plates. Outside the yard, in a separate area, three cows chewed dried hay, swatting flies off their backs lazily with their tails.

Around fifty men sat in groups on the ground outside, talking in hushed whispers.

Everyone who came in to pay their condolences, stared with unabashed curiosity at Sherlock who sat alongside Kesh, pale and silent. They whispered to ask each other who this foreigner was. As soon as they were informed that he was with Kesh, they either did namaste to him or bowed their head deferentially and moved away.

“Relatives and friends come from far and wide to attend the funeral, and close ones stays with the family  for the thirteen days,” explained Kesh.

Akrur walked up to them and bowing respectfully he addressed them both. “Kesh, Sherlock, lunch is about to be served, you can wash your hands and please take a seat.”

As the men sat down in a line, the women came, bearing plates and bowls made of dried leaves, stitched together with small wooden toothpick shaped shards. They lay one in front of each man. _A humble offering of simple lunch served on leaves_. Sherlock could not remember when he had had a more satisfying meal.

 

                                                                                ***

“Sherlock, do you want to come for meditation with me tomorrow?” asked Kesh, as he lay on his side on a cotton mattress on the ground, his arm tucked under his head like a make-shift pillow.

Lying on a similar mattress from across Kesh, Sherlock adjusted his pillow as he pulled the thick blanket around him and said, “Are you up to it? Shouldn’t you take a break?”

“On the contrary, Sherlock. It is when you feel least up to it, that it is needed the most.”

“Then yes, we will go together.”

The night air was cool and fragrant, the gushing river water created a soothing backdrop. There were around twenty men including Sherlock and Kesh, sleeping outdoors in the yard. There were not enough mattresses or pillows to go around. So some slept with just a sheet on the ground, using their arms as pillows.

“Okay I’ll wake you. There is a small, beautiful Shiva temple close by. It is probably the only peaceful place around here where one can sit comfortably, without pebbles and stones digging into one’s bottom," Kesh said with a smile.

“But won’t the temple be closed?” asked Sherlock.

“Lord Shiva’s temple is never closed,” replied Kesh. “The women will be up early too. You see, there is only one big communal place to take a bath, so they wake up before the men and use it and proceed with the housework. Then the men take a bath, as the women get breakfast ready,” he explained.

Sherlock succumbed to a loud open-mouthed yawn as he said, “I’m buggered. It’s been a long day, Kesh.”

“Yes, it has. Good night, Sherlock.”

Sherlock slept under the stars.

 

                                                                                                ***

 

It was a less subdued and more animated group on the next day, as men gathered around talking.

Sherlock watched all afternoon, as many came to express their condolences. A steady stream of people walked up to Kesh, and bowing their heads in respect, palms folded, speaking to him in hushed whispers. Kesh stood tall and dignified and listened to each one, with a warm, welcoming attitude, no sign of irritation or pride.

Standing next to Sherlock, Akrur said, “Kesh owns a lot of land in this area. Before my father passed away, he was very worried about the plight of the poor villagers. Kesh wanted to give them money, build houses. But my father did not permit him. He preferred that they learn to earn their own livelihood. So Kesh set up a Farmer’s Cooperative, where the local farmers can get subsidized seeds and fertilizers. And he arranged for experts to visit every three months, to teach them about farming techniques, and other improvements. Some don’t own land for farming, but have cattle. Along with Kesh, we set up a network to have milk distribution centralized, so that everyone gets a fair rate. I have been managing things here the past few years. Kesh never interferes, but he would come every couple of months to see my mother.”

Akrur's smile was fond, proud, “Every time he came, he was compelled to stay for at least two to three days. Word would spread that he was here, and people would come in droves to meet him, from this village and all the scattered surrounding regions. Ordinary people, tribal people, the locally important people…”

Sherlock watched silently. One man started crying as he was talking to Kesh; Kesh put his hand on his shoulder obviously giving reassurances.

Akrur continued, “Kesh has done a lot for this village and other villages around here. These people owe him a lot. They are all coming to either thank him or ask for his help. I have never known him to turn anyone down.”

Someone called out to Akrur, so apologizing to Sherlock, he left.

Sherlock _observed._

 

                                                                                ***

 

The two friends sat on the banks of the river, watching the hypnotic fast flow of the water. They were perched on big black rocks, letting their feet dangle in the cool water, which formed eddies around their feet. The midday sun was overhead, but it was a cloudy dull day, the need for shade had not yet driven them towards shelter.

For the past three days, Sherlock and Kesh would wake up before daybreak, and using a small kerosene lantern, make their way to the temple. It was the most serene place Sherlock had ever experienced. They would take positions and Sherlock would follow Kesh's instructions, clarify his doubts before proceeding on to meditate. Kesh was delighted but not surprised at the pace at which Sherlock was progressing.

Now, Sherlock traced lazy patterns in the river with a large stick he had found on the ground. “Why are there so many rituals surrounding death over here, Kesh?” he asked, curious.

“It is believed that with death, it is the body which dies, the soul is immortal,” answered Kesh after a pause. “Just like one removes old used clothes, and puts on new ones, the soul removes the old body once the incarnational intent is complete and takes on a new one. The rituals are prayers for the soul to get a body conducive to spiritual success. You see, it is believed that inner growth and spiritual progress are supreme. Everything else is meaningless.”

Sherlock stared at the river, as he reflected on this.

“Do you believe in all this, Kesh? Do you believe in God?”

Kesh glanced at Sherlock silently before looking away and staring fixedly into the distance. The silence became weighty as he pondered on his answer.

He changed his position to face Sherlock, looking intent as he finally spoke. “Sherlock, I never asked you, how it is that you decided to come to India? Can you tell me in detail what happened, what prompted you, the events that led to it?”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed as he scanned Kesh’s face trying to deduce the meaning behind the specificity of the question. Kesh's tone was deliberate, his eyes were shining with intensity, purpose. Mentally shrugging his shoulders, Sherlock threw his mind back and started to recount in faithful detail the day at the hospital when John’s daughter was born, coming home, crying in the shower, asking himself for help, lying down on the couch to analyse, falling asleep, waking up thinking of Kesh. Mycroft’s arrival and what they had discussed.

Kesh listened without interruption, and once Sherlock was done, he asked softly, “Whom did you ask for help in the shower?”

“My own self.”

Kesh leaned forward, his face eager, urging Sherlock to think.“Which self, Sherlock?... Your _outward_ self with which you faced the world and exhibited a nonchalance and irritation to the world, and tried to pretend you were functioning well?..... Your _emotional_ self, who was the cause of the unrequited love and grief and frustration in the first place? ….Your _intellectual_ self, who had tried ceaselessly to analyse and compute the situation, but was unable to find a solution, having become a slave to the vagaries of your emotional self? …..Or some _other_ self?”

Sherlock frowned as he reflected in silence and then his eyes widened with understanding.

“No, none of those. Not the outward, not the emotional, not the intellect. My inner self. _ME_ ,” he said finally.

Tears shone in Kesh’s eyes as he leaned back with a soft, satisfied smile, “ _That_ is your Higher Self. _That_ is the real _you_. _That_ is your innermost confidante, guide, friend. _That_ will never abandon you. _That_ is the eternal subject, the substratum over which all your life experiences happen, over which all your thoughts and emotions are reflected. _That_ always has your highest good in mind. _That_ is the reflection of Divinity in you.”

His hand came forwards to grasp Sherlock's, “People confuse religion and spirituality all the time." He shook his head with frustration. "Spirituality is a dogged, unwavering pursuit of the highest Truth. Religion is merely the maintenance of a belief system. Belief in your higher Self or Divinity is not a choice, Sherlock. It dawns upon you, through doubt, through experience, through grace and through life itself. Divinity as a belief is simply _religion_. Divinity as an experience is _spirituality_. Do you understand?"

They sat by the river side for a long time, feet dipped in the flowing water as they contemplated, argued, debated........

 

                                                                                ***

 

It was the afternoon of the fourth day.

Everyone was in the yard for an afternoon siesta; some sitting, some lying down. Summer had arrived and here on the plains, the temperature climbed in the afternoons, making it a sluggish, lazy period for most.

A car parked close by and Uddhav walked into the yard. Kesh rose as Uddhave came up to him. The two friends hugged. “Kesh, I’m so sorry about Guruma. And sorry I took so long to come. I got tied up with postponing the weddings.”

“What! Why?” Kesh exclaimed.

“If you think either Radha or Meera or I are getting married in your absence then you are crazy, my friend,” said Uddhav simply. “Don't worry, it's only been postponed by a fortnight. I’ve made all the arrangements, with the wedding hall and caterers etc. And we've informed all the guests. It's all taken care of.”

He squeezed Kesh’s arm before he could reply and walked over to Akrur to hug him and offer his condolences.

Uddhav left later in the evening, many commitments awaited his attendance. “Kesh, you will of course stay the full thirteen days. Sherlock, would you like to come back with me?” he asked.

“Thank you, Uddhav, but no. I will return with Kesh.”

 

                                                                                ***

 

Sherlock and Kesh sat by the banks of the river, talking and laughing.

Life had settled into a pattern temporarily. Get up, go for meditation for around three hours. Come back, have a bath. Sherlock had gotten used to the communal bath enclosure by now. Then usually Kesh had to take part in some religious ritual. After that they would sit around in the yard talking to various people. Go for a walk in the evening by the river. Talk for many hours and come back for dinner. And finally, sleep under the clear night sky, listening to the sounds of the gushing river water.

_On the first morning, Sherlock and Kesh had entered with towels in an open air enclosure, made of four bare brick walls. Sherlock looked around curiously as he took in the sparse amenities. Three other men had been bathing at that time, wearing only tight dhotis forming a sling around their hips to cover their crotches. Two of them were sitting on a plastic mat on the ground and one was standing. Even as they used their plastic tumblers to pour water from the bucket next to them, they were talking and laughing. As soon as Kesh and Sherlock entered all chatter stopped. They respectfully greeted the duo and finished their bath with hurried movements before doing namaste and leaving._

_“Why did they leave so quickly? Did we interrupt them?” Sherlock looked bemused._

_“It is just a gesture of respect and deference,” Kesh shrugged his shoulders. “When someone they consider important is in their midst, they consider it rude to be in their presence without purpose. Besides, they probably felt that you might be embarrassed or shy since you are new to this; that you may find it awkward to bathe in front of them.”_

_“Well, it’s certainly novel,” Sherlock smiled as he looked down at the tattered low plastic stool, the old leaky tap, the tarpaulin above the brick walls that fluttered precariously in the wind and was covered with holes. He marveled at the sudden wave of fondness that swept over him; for these people, their humble homes and their simplicity. Following Kesh’s lead he quickly undressed to his pants and sat on a stool adjusting his long gangly legs with some considerable difficulty and started to bathe himself. An urge to tease Kesh, watch him get ruffled overcame him. He raised a suggestive eyebrow and asked, “Kesh, is anyone likely to come here?_

_“Well, yes, it is possible,” Kesh answered innocently. Then looking at Sherlock's mock leer he laughed and splashed water from the bucket on Sherlock, “You are incorrigible.”_

_They laughed and jostled in that spartan room as they bathed._

Kesh pointed at the tall mountain flanking the opposite bank of the river and said, “Sherlock, I want to take you up there. It is a very auspicious pilgrimage site, called Gangotri, just an hours drive from here. There is a big temple for Mother Ganga up there. We won't go beyond that but a few hours hike from there is the edge of the glacier from which the Ganges originates, called Gaumukh. Tourists come from far and wide to hike upto that glacier.”

Sherlock looked up the mountain, as Kesh continued, “Religious tourism is big in India. There are four major sites in these ranges, called Char dham-- the four places. I will take you to Gangotri before we leave and I am quite determined to take you to Kedarnath. Which means you will have seen at least two out of the four sites. In fact, in about a fortnight’s time, the tourist season will start. Rudraprayag will be crowded beyond belief. Literally hundreds of thousands of people come during the short four months that the season lasts for.”

Sherlock nodded, feeling too lazy to respond. After some time he sighed, “I feel like I never want to move. Maybe I'll go for a swim if that's alright?”

"You go on, I’ll get your towel" Kesh said as he stood up. He jogged back to the house.

 

                                                                                ***

Kesh waited, sitting under the shade of a tree as he watched Sherlock enjoying his swim. _I could sit here all my life and watch him and it still would never be enough....._ Eventually, Sherlock came out.

Sherlock walked towards Kesh, his almost naked body glowing with droplets of water shimmering in the afternoon sun, long locks plastered to his high pale forehead, his smile getting increasingly wicked as he watched the hungry, desperate look in Kesh’s widened eyes as they roamed over Sherlock’s body and lingered over his crotch. He paused a few feet away, and shook his head like a dog, spraying drops of water from his hair on all sides. And then he lifted his arms over his head with fingers interlocked and stretched like a cat, twisting his torso as though posing, seemingly oblivious to Kesh’s mute reverent gaze.

He straightened and neared Kesh, a seductive teasing smile on his face. Standing in front of Kesh with legs slightly spread such that his crotch was in front of Kesh's face, he said softly, "Kesh?”

“Hmm…,” said Kesh absently, his wide eyes fixed unblinkingly on Sherlock's bulge, his mouth parted slightly.

“Kesh….” Sherlock repeated, suppressed laughter in his voice. Focus broken, Kesh's eyes dragged up from Sherlock's groin to reach his amused gaze. He blushed, embarrassed at being caught out and looked away shyly. Sherlock tied a towel around his waist as he changed the wet pants and put on his linen trousers, laughing as he sat down. _Oh, Kesh......_ They sat staring at the river, acutely aware of each other, the air between them crackling with sudden heat.

Sherlock slid his hand across the ground to hook his little finger to Kesh’s as he asked, voice husky, “Kesh, is there anywhere we can be alone?”

Kesh shook his head as he looked around desperately, noting the occasional farmer who waved as he walked past, to the village women coming to fill water in their earthen pots. _Want him....want to feel his touch.....please, God....want his hands on me so badly......_ Sherlock ran his tongue over his lower lip as his observant eyes looked around casually as though taking in the scenery _....need to be alone....need to touch him....._

Suddenly Kesh’s eyes brightened and he hissed urgently, “Sherlock, the apple orchard,” gesturing to the dense growth of numerous apple trees beyond the clearing. Sherlock narrowed his eyes as he peered, “Isn't it likely that we'd be interrupted? There may be workers around......” Kesh's answer was simple, “Well, it is _my_ orchard. And it is not apple growing season, so I doubt anyone will be there.”

Sherlock frowned as he considered for a while and then jumped up abruptly, “Let’s leave our towels and clothes here….. race you to it?” he challenged,  as he ran barefoot towards the dense groove. Kesh followed, and both ran straight in, dodging trees as they weaved, laughing like two schoolboys. “Over there!" Sherlock pointed, after they were engulfed in the thicket as he ran to a rundown tin shack filled with rusted farming equipment and led Kesh behind it.  There was a huge banyan tree a few feet from the shack and by standing in between the shack and the tree they would be easily hidden. The orchard was deserted anyways.

They both leaned against the wall of the shack, laughing as they caught their breath.

“I feel like a horny teenager, for God's sake,” laughed Sherlock. His smile slowly faded as a heated look passed between them. Pulling Kesh towards him, he crowded him against the tree. They kissed gently at first, savouring their closeness after this long. Sherlock's lips roamed over Kesh's face, his neck.....just little nips and pecks. His hands moved down to knead Kesh’s ass, slotting their erections together, rubbing against each other. One hand came up to tangle in Kesh’s locks; he pulled Kesh's head back, lips sucking gently at the pulse point on the neck, careful not to leave a mark. “Want you so much,” he murmured against Kesh's lips. Kesh arched into him, pliant and responsive, welcoming the rough, bruising kisses. “So long, it’s been so long…..” Sherlock gasped as his fingers found a nipple under Kesh's t-shirt and pinched it. Kesh moaned, “Sherlock......Sherlock...... please…..”

"Touch me," Sherlock's voice was a rough demand. Kesh palmed his crotch, rubbing along the long turgid length. “Fuck, Kesh...... just like that…so good.”

Kesh panted in his ear as he continued to stroke Sherlock’s length through his trousers. “Please.....Oh God..... Sherlock….I want.....” Kesh broke of with a gasp as Sherlock hand moved down to fondle his balls

“Tell me, Kesh. Tell me what you want, " Sherlock held Kesh's face between his palms, eyes searching. Kesh looked up, a mute plea in his eyes, face blushing, feeling suddenly tongue-tied.

“Are you sure?

Sherlock bit his lower lip between his teeth, a gleam of elation in his eyes as he watched Kesh's shy nod. “God yes, I'd love for you to do it."

He looked around urgently muttering, “You can’t kneel on the ground, your knees will hurt…… Here, sit on this,” as he pushed Kesh towards a rock and guided him down. 

A warm palm came to rest gently on the nape of Kesh’s neck as he squatted down to peer into Kesh’s eyes. He squeezed, his tone tender, “You don’t have to do this, Kesh……it is…it is fine….you don't _have_ to do anything."

“I _want_ to Sherlock..... so badly…. Please?” answered Kesh. Sherlock bent forward to touch their foreheads together. “I’m clean, Kesh. I had myself tested after Serbia and haven’t been with anyone since.”

Love spilled from Kesh's eyes as he whispered softly against Sherlock’s lips, “I don’t care.”

Sherlock snorted as he pulled back, shaking his head with bemusement, “Oh Kesh……my loving, trusting Kesh......"

He took a deep breath as he asked once more, “Are you sure?”

“Yes….please, Sherlock.”

Sherlock stood up and looked around again and then back down at Kesh’s upturned face. His tongue ran over his lower lips slowly, his eyes hungry, ravenous even......He unzipped his trousers, pulling out his turgid cock, stroking himself as he watched the eagerness on Kesh's face. His voice was husky with desire, “Gently, Kesh. Don’t let me hurt you. Don’t take too much in……”

Kesh looked at the thick hard cock in front of him, greedily inhaling the scent of river water mixed with male arousal. A pearly drop of precome glistened at the tip as Kesh leaned forward to hold the base of the cock in his fist and licked the drop off. Sherlock groaned loudly. Kesh opened his mouth wide to accommodate the thick mushroom head into his mouth.

_Bitter...salty.... Sherlock. Look at him, so beautiful, even his erection is so beautiful.... I wonder how much I can fit in..... Right, I’ll suck and stroke just like he did to me.... I want to do it right…. want to please him….give him pleasure…..Oh God, I have Sherlock’s cock in my mouth!_

At the first feel of Kesh’s mouth, Sherlock moaned loudly.... _fucking hell....._ and leaned forward to hunch over the wall, both hands clasped in fists as he watched his length disappear between Kesh's eager lips. He steeled himself for restraint. “Hold the base, Kesh.....don’t try to overdo it….” he said huskily.

_God....so long..... it’s been so long since I’ve done this. Look at him, all uncoordinated but so enthusiastic..... Behave, Sherlock. Don’t move, let him find his rhythm….Fuck, that feels good…..don’t hurt him, don’t scare him. Good, he is getting it…..Kesh......my lovely Kesh._

Kesh found his rhythm as he stroked and sucked, swirling his tongue the way Sherlock had. Sherlock was panting open mouthed, his eyes looking down as they watched his glistening cock going in and out of Kesh’s mouth. He gasped, “That’s perfect, Kesh. It feels so good….." Putting a gentle hand on Kesh's head he paused the bobbing motion. "Kesh, I’ll warn you when I’m about to come....you can just jerk me off when I say.....”

Kesh looked up to ask, his voice hoarse, “Why? Why would l make all that effort and let go of the best part?”

Sherlock smirked as he put a gentle hand on Kesh’s head and guided himself back in, “As you wish." Kesh sucked in, his tongue moving, licking, his head bobbing, as he tried his best, "So close, Kesh…..suck harder….Just like that….so good…..faster, Kesh,” Sherlock slowly started to move his hips as he thrust in and out of the hot cavern of Kesh's mouth. As his orgasm approached, his moans got louder, “Kesh, I’m close….Kesh……Fuck, I’m coming…" He pulsed, heaving loudly,  his hand tangled gently into Kesh's hair, as Kesh sucked and swallowed.

Loose limbed and a bit dizzy from the intense contractions, Sherlock slid down between Kesh's legs, showering uncoordinated open kisses on any part of Kesh he could reach, trembling in reaction. Kesh slid to the ground as well, holding Sherlock's shaking body close. Sherlock head rested on his chest; after a while he looked up at Kesh, feather light fingers tracing Kesh's lips, “Thank you. That was literally _mind blowing_. I think my brain short circuited.” He smiled, sated and happy.

 Kesh laughed with delight as he bent down to kiss Sherlock, “I can’t believe I did that. I can’t believe I was allowed to do that. Thank you, Sherlock.”

Sherlock arched a disbelieving eyebrow, “You do know, Kesh that it is the other way around. _I_ am the one supposed to be doing the thanking.”

“I don’t care…..I only know I feel thankful….Sherlock, did I please you?” Kesh asked eagerly.

“Oh Kesh, if you think I did you a favour, let me tell you I’d be happy to do this favour again and again. And yes you pleased me a lot” said Sherlock looking up at an awestruck but gleeful Kesh and laughed.

Kesh smiled and nuzzled Sherlock and kept whispering over and over, “I love you, Sherlock…..I love you so much.”

 

                                                                                ***

“Sherlock bhaiyya, Sherlock bhaiyya,” a female voice called out.

Sherlock was sitting alone on the river banks, staring at the water as he thought. At the sound of his name, he turned around so fast that he almost gave himself a whiplash! It felt surreal to hear the familiar “ _bhaiyya_ ”, meaning “brother” added to his name.

Akrur's wife stood a few feet away wearing her white sari, petite and lovely as she smiled at him, “Please, Sherlock bhaiyya, can you help us? All the men are out to the Farmer’s Cooperative meeting and we need a tall person to help us finish putting cow dung on the walls of our house.”

Sherlock smiled reassuringly as he rose. Nodding his acquiescence, he approached her and wordlessly followed her home.

_Put cow dung. On the walls of their house. Bloody hell.....cow dung….. cow dung…._

They reached the house where two other women were standing next to the wall. Two buckets filled with cow dung lay close by. Akrur’s wife explained, “We take the dried cow dung patties,” pointing to the piles, “and when we want to apply it, we mix the patty with a little water to make it a bit soft. And then apply it with our hands to the wall and smooth it down so that it looks nice.” She bent down to grab a cow dung patty and demonstrate the technique as she spoke.

“Here let me show you,” she grabbed one of Sherlock’s big hands and dipped it in the mixture. It felt cool and had a unique odour that was surprisingly inoffensive. She guided him into cupping his palm to hold a good amount and then plaster it to the wall. Her little hand pressed down on his hand as he ran it over to smooth it till no more bumps were left. Satisfied, she stepped back, “Please Sherlock bhaiyya, we can’t reach the top.... we are short. Can you do it?”

With a wry grin Sherlock got into the spirit of it, as he slowly began to plaster. When he was not satisfied with the smoothness he started to scrape it off and began reapplying, taking care to make it perfect. The women supervised him for a while and then left him, to do other household chores.

He was still hard at it when Kesh returned with Akrur and other men.

Kesh's mouth fell open as he watched dumbstruck; the lithe pale figure, brows furrowed in concentration, blue-gray eyes darting hither and thither, working away busily, hands soiled up to the elbows, cow dung splatters on his clothes, feet caked in mud and cow dung. A slow delighted smile spread across his face; he leaned against a tree, arms folded across his chest as he watched and watched as the love of his life worked on, oblivious.

 

                                                                                                ***

“The Ganga is very sacred to us, Sherlock. It is believed that if you bathe in her or drink her water then all your sins will be washed away.  At this place, the Ganga is called Bhagirathi,” explained Kesh as he spread his arms to gesture to the vision before Sherlock.

"Why? Why is she sacred?"

Kesh laughed, "Every seemingly silly ritual is actually highly symbolic. The Ganga stands for knowledge. Knowledge always purifies. She flows from the locks of Lord Shiva. He is symbolic of the Soul. The import being that the fountainhead of knowledge is the Soul and that knowledge is always steadily flowing from it. When you look away from the world and bathe in that knowledge, you are purified."

Sherlock looked fascinated as he looked around.

They were at Gangotri, a bit past the huge white temple, having moved away from the heaving mass of people who had come to visit the temple.

The river roared. Huge boulders were in her path and the speeding water currents created numerous eddies as the waters danced and glimmered and sprayed and foamed. The sound was deafening, the sight spectacular.

“I can’t let you bathe here though, it is too dangerous…..but perhaps I will get you to drink some of her water,” Kesh called out as he ran to the river and dipped his hand in. He brought out a cupped palm, with fresh, cold mountain water, and extended it to Sherlock’s lips. Sherlock tilted his head back and drank.

 

                                                                                                ***

“Sorry to bother you, Kesh bhaiyya, I just wanted to confirm that we are leaving in the morning,” asked Vedant, as both Sherlock and Kesh emerged from the apple orchard, giggling like girls, nudging and jostling each other.

Taken aback, Kesh just managed to gather his wits and keep the embarrassment off his face, “Yes, Vedant, that is correct. You can make sure we are ready to go.”

Vedant did namaste as he left. As soon as he left, they turned to each other and started giggling again. “Almost caught in the act, Kesh,” Sherlock drawled.

“Almost,” agreed Kesh.

 

                                                                                                ***

It was the morning of the fourteenth day. Dawn had set in though the sun had yet to make an appearance. Sherlock watched, overwhelmed, as about a hundred men, women and children had gathered in and around the compound; they were there to farewell Kesh and Sherlock.

Even as they inched towards the waiting car, men took turns to come up and said a few words, women came up with shy smiles and handed parcels of food, fruits, pickles insistently in the hands of Vedant and Sherlock.

Finally Akrur stepped up as the car door opened. The weather beaten, gaunt face looked up at Sherlock as he stood in front of Sherlock and said, “You came to us in our hour of grief. Thank you for coming.” Folding his palms in namaste, he continued, “If we made a mistake in caring for you, please forgive us. We are humble village people, we sometimes make mistakes. And do come back, whenever you want. This is your home too. Never forget that.”

Sherlock blinked back tears as he spontaneously stepped forward to embarce the simple man in front of him, surprising himself. He cleared his throat, “It is I who am grateful. For all your hospitality. I am sorry for the loss of Guruma. Take care of yourselves and all of these people.”

“Shall we go?” asked Kesh, holding the car door.

Sherlock looked around, at the mountains, the river, the people, before turning back to Kesh and nodding solemnly….. _A fortnight I will always carry with me_ …..

“Yes."

 

                                                                                                To be continued…………

 

 

 

 


	11. Ishavasyamidam sarvam-All this is pervaded.......

“But, Sherlock, _this_ color will look better,” said the smartly dressed woman in her thirties, her tone insistent. “Let me at least drape it on you, then you look at yourself in the mirror. You have the most exquisite blue-gray eyes, it will enhance their beauty.” She draped a deep turquoise fabric made in decadent silk, over his shoulders, as she forcefully dragged him to the full length mirror on the wall at the corner of Sherlock’s bedroom.

She called out to the young man who was scrambling near the bed, trying to keep up with her demands as he offered samples from the veritable mountain of various fabrics on the bed. “Look at him, how beautiful he looks, he will look like a prince, like God walking on earth.” Sherlock blushed as he looked at her incredulously.

_How are these people so familiar with absolute strangers. Aren’t they afraid of being rebuffed…….I’m going to kill Kesh for leaving me alone with them……..Bloody hell, this color does look good on me….Where is he? What the hell is a Sherwani anyways….I have got perfectly good suits…..damn it, is it a marriage or a circus._

“I don’t want the whole Sherwani to be this color, it looks too rich. How about we use a neutral color as background, so that this colour stands out?” she asked. Sherlock nodded his approval just wanting the ordeal to be over, as he braced himself for the inevitable measurement taking.

“What is a Sherwani anyways?”

“Oh it’s a traditional silk Indian knee length coat worn during weddings, buttoned right to the top and a churidar as the bottom. It can be simple and elegant or as ornate as one wishes,” she replied absently as she walked around him with a measuring tape in hand, her eyes appraising his form.

She continued, “You know I met Kesh at school in Nainital. My garment business is now in Delhi. When he called, asking me to come here all the way from Delhi, to get you dressed for the wedding, I was so taken aback. It is so unlike him to ask for something. He is the one who encouraged me and helped me to set up my business. I am forever in his debt, so when he called, I came straight away. He said, _Neha, he is devastatingly good looking, I want to see if that can possibly be enhanced_. I see he was not exaggerating.” Her smile was teasing.

Sherlock quirked his lips mechanically as he said, “Let’s just get on with it, shall we?”

 

                                                                                ***

 

“Haridas, where’s Kesh?” demanded Sherlock.  

A harassed looking Haridas stood in the driveway, yelling out directions to three men who were busy building a _pandal_ , a temporary structure using bamboos and thick colorful embroidered cloth, to shelter the entire driveway and front yard from the elements. Four other men, supervised by Shankar, were busy fixing colorful lights on all the surrounding trees and the compound wall. In the massive backyard, food preparations by caterers were in full swing, large pots with steaming curries and biryanis being cooked, a large vessel with hot boiling oil, frying puris for the luncheon guests. Meera and her girlfriends fluttered around, tasting, instructing, helping.

Haridas turned to Sherlock with a smile, “He’s gone with Uddhav to see the caterer’s. He didn’t want to go, but Uddhav insisted that he wanted his opinion on the choice of food. You were with the tailors, so he left. He should be back for lunch soon.”

“Seriously, Haridas, the number of people around this place seems to be swelling exponentially by the minute. We’ll be overrun soon!” Sherlock grimaced.

Haridas laughed, his frail shoulders shaking. “Oh Sherlock, this is the way we celebrate. Meera is getting married from this house after all, as the daughter of the house. All our friends and family will be eating here for the next three days from tomorrow till the wedding is over. All the workers who work for Kesh, their spouses, children, the school workers, hospital workers..... All are invited to partake in the meals and be with us. Today is the last quiet day you will have for the next four days!” Haridas exclaimed.

“You call this _quiet_?” Sherlock's eyes were wide.

“Well today we just have the family and workers who have come to set everything up." Haridas shrugged his shoulders and then a let out delighted cackle at the wry look on Sherlock’s face. His gaze shifted to the workers behind Sherlock, who were standing around and chatting. He walked past Sherlock, shouting at the men, “At this rate, she can get married next year, can’t you hurry up?”

Turning back he told Sherlock pointedly, “Meera is looking for you, she said you must have lunch, before you disappear again.”

Sherlock groaned.

 

                                                                                                ***

 

Sherlock entered Kesh’s bedroom and glared at Kesh who sat on the chair, working on his computer. He fell down on the bed dramatically, clutching his tummy. He groaned again. “Oh for God’s sake Kesh! This is intolerable!. Meera should have been a school teacher.” He contrived to sound distressed.

“Made you eat again, did she?” Kesh chuckled.

“Why can’t she understand that I don’t like eating much? I hate eating regular meals! Food slows me down. Ugh...you should have heard her!" He sat up with sudden animation as he mimed, wagging a pointed finger up and down, " _Sherlock sir, please Sir, you are too thin. It reflects badly on us that our guest is so thin_ , _what will people say about us?_ "

Kesh laughed aloud as Sherlock glowered, “This is emotional blackmail, Kesh. That’s what’s going on in this house,” He threw a pillow at Kesh’s head. “Oh I’ve eaten so much, I’m going to die…..I should have stayed in Harsil, _much_ more civilized people there,” Sherlock voice sounded muffled as he put a pillow on head and buried his face in it.

Kesh was still laughing at Sherlock’s histrionics. His laughter slowly died down as he stared at Sherlock; elegantly creased, figure hugging linen trousers, tight white shirt defining every torso muscle, long toes wriggling, fair forearms holding the pillow that was hiding his face, his tangled soft curls sprawled on the pillow underneath.

He began hesitantly, “Maybe you should…..”

Sherlock lifted the pillow off his face and looked at Kesh, his eyes narrowed, “Maybe I should what?”

Kesh cleared his throat, his voice husky, “Maybe you should work off some of that sudden intake.” 

Sherlock stared at him, eyes widening in amazement. “Kesh, are you coming on to me?” he asked incredulously. 

“Maybe?” Kesh said hesitantly.

A slow seductive smile spread on Sherlock’s face, “Come here, _you_.....”

As Kesh reached the edge of the bed, Sherlock grabbed his wrist and jerked him forward, till he had Kesh sprawled over him. “Kesh……” he said as he held him close, nose buried in his neck, inhaling the familiar sandalwood. He stroked Kesh's hair back tenderly and sighed, "My lovely Kesh...." Staring into those shy eyes, he arched an eyebrow, “Want me?”

“Yes….always.” was Kesh's breathless response.

Sherlock pulled Kesh down for a kiss, his lips soft as they nipped Kesh's. “You think I am _devastatingly good looking_ , do you?”

“How….Oh, Neha?” Kesh blushed.

Sherlock smiled and then kissed Kesh, long intimate kisses, running his tongue over his lips, before invading his mouth, hands cupping his ass. “My Kesh, how much you love me.”

Kesh gasped as Sherlock dipped his fingers into his cleft suggestively. “Sherlock…. Sherlock, when will you…..?” he broke off.

Sherlock drew back as he took in the diffidence in Kesh’s eyes. He smiled gently, _Oh, Kesh....._

“Come here, lie down here,” He made Kesh lie down and lay down next to him, propped by his elbow. With one hand he played with Kesh’s hair, as he asked softly, “When will I what, Kesh?”

“When will you have sex with me?”

Sherlock frowned, “When will I have sex with you? What do you think we have been doing? We’ve been having sex every single day, since I first touched you…..well, except for the first few days in Harsil, of course.”

“No.” said Kesh taking in a deep breath, “When will you…..when will you have actual sex…. anal sex with me?”

Sherlock continued to play with his hair delicately as he bent down to nuzzle his face to Kesh’s chest. After a while, he drew back and looked into Kesh’s earnest eyes. He asked gently, “Do you feel ready?”

Kesh raised his shoulders in a slight shrug, as he replied, “I don’t know….I think so…..Do you think I am?”

Sherlock rubbed noses with Kesh, “We don’t have to rush into anything, Kesh. It is a big step, especially for you.”

“Do you still want to?”

Sherlock groaned as he replied huskily, “You have no idea, Kesh…..but I’m fine with waiting too.” He bent down and kissed Kesh’s chest. “Or maybe you can penetrate me first. That’s good as well. Then I don’t have to worry about hurting you....."

Kesh shook his head as he buried his face in Sherlock's chest, “No, no....... I can’t do that.”

“What! _WHY_?”

Kesh was silent for a while, and then he sat up, “Because I wouldn’t have a clue about what I’m doing and because…..” his voice trailed off.

 “And because, what?”

Kesh bent down and held Sherlock’s face in his palms, kissed his lips softly, “It is such an intimate thing to do.”

Sherlock frowned, “But you are willing to let me have you?”

“That’s different. I love you, I’m yours……you can take your pleasure from me….”

Sherlock took his hand and clasped it as he said curiously, “Kesh, you do know that there is no taking? It is mutually pleasurable, you do know that, right?” At Kesh’s nod, he averted his eyes, absently kissing  Kesh’s hand, a thoughtful look in his eyes. He looked back at Kesh and frowned as he said, “Kesh…..I know the depth and intensity of your love for me. I do not understand it but I accept it joyfully…..You are very dear to me..... I care about you deeply…..But I’m not sure I love you the same way.”

“I know,” Kesh said simply, smiling.

“It does not bother you?” Sherlock exclaimed, puzzled.

“Why should it? What does _my_ love have to do with how _you_ feel?” Kesh continued smiling as Sherlock’s frown deepened. He shook his head as he explained, “Sherlock, I’ve loved you since I came to know you. I loved you while you were here, I loved you when you left, and if and when you choose to leave again, I’ll still love you. It has nothing to do with how you feel. You are magnificent, you exist, you came into my life….. that is enough…all of this,” Kesh continued, waving his hand about, “All of this, your being here, your choosing to stay with me, spend time with me, choosing to touch me, letting me touch you……this is all a beautiful gift for me, a bonus. I mean to enjoy every minute of it while it lasts.”

Sherlock stared at him, then shaking his head in disbelief, “You extraordinary man…..” He clasped Kesh in his arms as he rolled them around. Peering down into Kesh's eyes, he asked, “Mine?”

Kesh grinned widely as he responded, “YOURS.”

They both looked up at the knock on the door.

“Hrishikesh…Hrishikesh, can I come in?” Uddhav’s voice called out.

Kesh got up and smiling sheepishly, tucked his shirt back in, adjusting himself, as he called out, “One minute, Uddhav.”

“I’ll wait downstairs for you. Vedant and I have been waiting. We have to go to Meera’s father’s house to invite him, remember? Bye, Sherlock,” he yelled out cheerfully through the closed door as he left.

“He’s going to be totally frazzled by the time the wedding is over,” Kesh remarked shaking his head. “Sherlock, I’ve to go to Madhav’s house to invite him to come. I hope he is over his anger. Do you want to come with us?”

“No, I would prefer to stay in, if that’s okay. Actually, I wanted to catch up with the reading material from your research; you did say it would be fine?”

Kesh nodded as he bent down to tie his shoelaces. “All the hard copies are on the desk in my office. But a lot of the material  is on my laptop, it’s not password protected, so that’ll be fine."

As he straightened Sherlock came up behind him and put his arms around his waist. “I’ll be here waiting. We can revisit our conversation about _anal sex_ ,” he drawled as he playfully nibbled at Kesh's ear. Kesh sank back into him with a shiver, “Yes…. Yes, please, Sherlock.”

 

                                                                                ***

 

Kesh walked onto the terrace to find Sherlock standing near the balustrades, staring at the river, lost in thought. He watched the still figure, hair fluttering in the wind, slim graceful body leaning over the balustrade.

“Kesh,” Sherlock rumbled without turning his face.

“I thought you didn’t know I was here,” confessed Kesh as he walked towards him.

Sherlock turned to face him, “You have been standing there, staring at me for 129 seconds. I have keen hearing, Kesh,” He smiled as he pulled Kesh in his arms. “How did things go with Madhav?”

“He is very happy. He will come for the wedding. I told him to come home, see his daughter, and participate fully,” answered Kesh snuggling into Sherlock’s chest.

Sherlock led him to the sofa divan and settled down, gathering Kesh till he lay across his chest. “What were you thinking about, looking out at the river?” asked Kesh as Sherlock stroked his hair tenderly and bent down to kiss him.

“I read your research papers. It’s all quite extraordinary, isn’t it, Kesh?”

Kesh sat up and said, “It is. It amazes me, all the time.”

Sherlock leaned back on the back rest, his face tilted up to look at the night sky in contemplation. After a while he, “How is all this possible? What is this? What does it all mean?”

“I don’t know either. No one knows. But sometimes I feel that asking the questions is the more important thing."

Sherlock turned to him as he said, “So your group thinks it is the sterile neutrino?”

“It fits in.....the lack of mass is not a problem unlike the electron neutrino. We are testing  it. Others are testing different things. I was into gravitational lensing for a while, but then moved to particle research." His voice was hushed, reflective as he stared at Sherlock. "No one knows.... it's like a mystery…only better, because whether you deduce it or not, the fascination still remains, the beauty still captivates.”

Sherlock nodded. “I went through your books in the study. The number of science books.... on quantum physics, cosmology are roughly the same as the amount of ancient texts from various faiths,” said Sherlock lifting his head to look at Kesh, “I find it hard to imagine. How do you reconcile the two? Being a scientist and a spiritual person.  I am a scientist. I believe in quantifiable objective data, on the evidence of my eyes. Spirituality seems to me to be abstract, a matter of discussion and debate, with no grounding in real life.”

“I used to think so too. When I was young, when I had not given it much thought. The more I studied the two, the more I realized that they are two different ways of seeing the same truth, the same realities in two different ways. They are both saying exactly the same thing."

He stood up, pacing as he spoke, his arms waving about. "Science moves from the outwards to the inwards. From diversity to unity. From quantifiable facts to the understanding of the underlying, breathtaking symmetry and order in nature, towards the understanding of one overarching theory of everything.  Spirituality moves from the inwards to the outwards. From subjective experience to the manifest creation. From the understanding of a core, a center radiating out to include everything."

He leaned forwards, his eyes intent on Sherlock, "They are just two different viewpoints of seeing the same truth. There is a saying in ancient Sanskrit, _Truth is one, wise people state it in different ways_.”

Sherlock frowned as he asked, “What does it mean for an agnostic like me though, Kesh?”

“Agnosticism, undecided on an underlying reality or truth. Or Atheist, not believing in God. Both are also valid faiths aren’t they, Sherlock? Both are one’s own personal judgements on the state of things. And both or I should say _all_ are perfectly fine. The human brain is meant to think, analyse, dissect. If it is doing that....why then, the purpose is served no matter what conclusions are drawn.”

Sherlock sighed as he turned away and looked up at he sky again, he murmured thoughtfully, “I look at the stars sometimes....... wonder about what the real extent of the cosmos is. Every few years, they discover that it is bigger than their previous estimates, older than they previously thought. Are we are an accident, or a design by some creator? Why we are here? Is there a reason?”

“I don’t know the answer to that, Sherlock. That is why, after all my study, I decided to pursue that which made the most sense to my immediate life. Don’t get me wrong, I have read all the anthropomorphic arguments, the entomological arguments, the cosmological arguments…and reflected very deeply on them. But ultimately all of that is a matter for intellectual debate. As flimsy and as easily overturned as one’s opinions."

He paused, shaking his head, "All that study was ultimately meaningless...do you see? It has to translate into something meaningful to _my_ life...... I found it more useful to think about myself. Whether a creator or God exists or not, I don't know....But no one can argue with me about whether _I_ exist. If I exist, then I am my reality. I found by the practice of meditation of tapping into something bigger than myself right inside of me. That is my reality. When I am centered in it, it upholds me, guides me, I am happy. After all, underlying all the running around in life, that is the ultimate goal isn’t it, to be happy?”

“Kesh, is it a void, when you reach closer to the center?”

“On the contrary, it is a fullness. How can it be a void, a nothingness, Sherlock? _You_ are still there. Even if it is a void, there needs to be something to _witness_ it. That is what you are. At the end of the day, that's what we all are. Witnesses to our life, to this vast creation.”

They sat quietly in contemplative silence for a while. Finally, Sherlock waved towards the sky, “So 65% dark energy?”

“Yes, amazing isn’t it? By the latest research 65% dark energy, 30 % dark matter. Everything that we see, all the matter in the universe accounts for the remaining 5% only. Dark matter, matter that is hidden from us, only seen in its effects, dark energy that cannot be detected, _that_ 95% is accelerating the universe outwards, that is why there is no big crunch coming as a logical end to the big bang…..”

Sherlock’s eyes widened as he looked up and said in a hushed whisper, “I love it, Kesh. Love this mystery. This unsolved wonder of exquisite science and pure mathematics……there is something out there driving this cosmos…. _Pervading_ the universe…..something undetectable, unidentifiable…that is just known by its effects…….it appears, that if God exists, his language is silence, an unseen presence.”

“Or perhaps,” suggested Kesh, “if an ultimate Reality, a Truth  exists, it talks and we just need to adjust our frequency and wavelength to it.....like trying to get a proper radio signal?”

Silence fell again, both sat slouched on their armchairs, staring up at the clear night sky, the stars.

“I have been thinking, Kesh. I think…….one needs to learn to live with ambiguity when one is a seeking spirit,” Sherlock said after a while.

“I agree. All those who genuinely seek to learn, whether atheist or believer, scientist or mystic, are united in not have _a_ faith but faith itself.”

They were still talking an hour later, oblivious to the loud chatter and laughter from downstairs, when Haridas came to call them for dinner.

As Kesh got up to leave, Sherlock grasped his arm to stop him. He pulled Kesh closer, cupping his face, his eyes intent with meaning, before he slowly pressed their lips together. He murmured against Kesh's lips, his voice husky, "It was here that I first touched you, that I first asked if I could have you, Kesh. Will you let me have you tonight?”

Kesh's smile was radiant, his eyes filled with love and trust, "Yes....please, Sherlock.”

                                                                                ***

 

Sherlock lips hovered above Kesh's thighs as he eased a third finger in, watching it disappear inside Kesh. His voice was husky with arousal as he murmured, “Shh….relax, just give it a few seconds…”

“Sherlock….” Kesh gasped at the tightness, needy eyes fixed on Sherlock, seeking reassurance as his hand dug into Sherlock's shoulder.

“I’ve got you, Kesh…..I know it feels like a lot, but….I am bigger than just two fingers, I _need_ to prepare you well....Okay?” His eyes scanned Kesh's face, as he made a cone of the three fingers, sliding them in and out slowly. He had taken a long time to carefully prepare Kesh, as gently as he could, using liberal amounts of lube, which glistened all around Kesh’s ass and had dripped into the bed sheets underneath. Kesh swallowed as he absorbed the incredible stretch, before nodding at Sherlock..... _Oh God..this already feels like so much...how will I do it...I can do it...I want so much...so much to feel him inside me...give him pleasure..._

Sherlock slowly spread his fingers, stretching the sphincter, withdrawing them and slowly plunging them back in again. He stroked Kesh's prostate, holding the sensitive nub between two fingers while the third applied firm strokes. “Sherlock.... Oh God....it feels so good when you touch me there…..Sherlock….please come here, please Sherlock…”

Sherlock slid up, kissing Kesh’s belly and chest as he moved to Kesh’s perspiring face. He cupped Kesh's cheek, his voice gentle, “My Kesh….you’re so tight, it’s going to feel like heaven sliding into you,” He kissed the parted parched lips from which soft panting breaths puffed out. He buried his face in Kesh’s neck and moaned, his fingers deep inside Kesh's arse, his hands flexing as he fucked him with his fingers. He rubbed his own hard-on into the mattress slowly, desperately aroused, needing friction. "Going to have you soon, Kesh…..I think I’m going to come just from the thought of it."

Kesh turned his face to nuzzle into Sherlock, a trembling hand stroked Sherlock's thick curls, “I can’t wait for it either.” He moaned as Sherlock’s grazes to his prostate became more insistent, “I feel so full…so full of you.”

Sherlock lifted his face, his gaze taking in Kesh’s desperate look. Gently removing his fingers, he rolled off Kesh to lie down on his back, “Come here, Kesh. Come on top, you’ll have better control.”

Kesh shook his head, pulling Sherlock back, his voice insistent as he begged, "No, no…..you on top... I want you above me, in me, around me, everywhere…. please, Sherlock."

Sherlock gently rolled back over Kesh, murmuring reassuringly, “Okay…okay.” He mounted over Kesh, his lips sucking on Kesh's gently, rubbing his hard length to Kesh's, the lube making it all slippery. They gasped and moaned into each other’s mouths as their hands roamed, grasping, kneading, caressing.

Sherlock sat up, “Alright?” Kesh nodded nervously, his legs splayed wide and shivering, his eyes fixed to Sherlock's gaze. Sherlock slicked himself, stroking gently, his eyes flicking between Kesh’s stretched opening and his needy, trusting eyes.

_I hope I don’t hurt him…..It’s going to feel spectacular…..my Kesh, offering himself up so completely…..going to make it good for him..... Oh Kesh…..his first time….all mine….._

He aligned his cock with one hand and flexed Kesh's hip with the other, tilting his pelvis up. His teeth worried his lower lip as he stared down, a powerful surge of anticipation, of sheer _rightness_ running throuh him. Both gasped at the first nudge of his cockhead to Kesh’s entrance. Sherlock slowly inched in, his eyes on Kesh’s face, watching for any pain. Kesh was staring at him with an expression of wonder, awe.

“Is this okay, Kesh, am I hurting you?” Sherlock asked anxiously. Kesh shook his head, barely managing to gasp out, “No…just....feels a lot bigger... it’s stretching me, but no pain.”

Sherlock rocked in gently, brow furrowed in concentration, gaze moving between Kesh's face and the utterly sensual sight of his long length sliding in, Kesh stretching to accomodate him. He clenched his jaw, holding his breath as he inched in, _Fuck...I might come from this alone....._. Once fully sheathed by Kesh's tight passage, he let go of his breath all at once. He let out a loud uninhibited moan, “Oh God, Kesh….” They stared at each other.

Sherlock stared in wonder.

_It has been years.....have fucked so many….why does this feel so different…..tight, hot, so fucking arousing that I am taking a virgin….but that’s not it….there's something different…..look at him, he looks like he would worship me if he could…..so much love….my Kesh….mine…..WHY does feel different…..why do I feel I want to cry……loves me so unconditionally……has handed himself over, body and soul……..my lovely loving Kesh…_

Kesh stared in veneration.

_Sherlock….oh God, Sherlock is inside me……so full…..full of his flesh, full of joy, full of Sherlock……this is so  intimate…..I never knew it could be like this….feels so good, like I am complete now…..love him, love him so much……the most beautiful, brilliant, perfect man in the world……and he has chosen to share this with me…….I hope it pleases him……want to please him……want to be here, in this position, joined, connected always…._

Sherlock bent forward and braced himself on both forearms, face close to Kesh’s, as he licked the tears spilling from his eyes, soft kisses to his swollen lips, his nose.

“Look at me, Kesh….stay with me…tell me you’re okay, not in pain?”he murmured finally.

Kesh looked back in wonder and said with a reverent whisper, “Sherlock, you’re inside me. I can feel you everywhere.”

“Yes, I am….my Kesh, you feel as good, as I had imagined,” he whispered, “Kesh, I’m going to move now, okay?”

“Okay,” came the breathless response.

And Sherlock moved. Withdrawing gently, he slid back in slowly, long slow purposeful strokes, Kesh’s body caged underneath his, Kesh’s gasping breaths on his face, his eyes locked in with Kesh’s with a burning intensity, Kesh’s stream of moans and “Sherlock…Oh God, just there, right there… Sherlock” reverberating in his ears, as he took; took what was his, offered so freely and lovingly…..he took and took as he savoured in equal measures the hot tightness and the love and awe spilling from Kesh’s eyes. His abs rippled and undulated, brushing against Kesh’s hardness, as he nudged and caressed Kesh’s prostate, rewarded with broken needy pleas of “Please…. Please…. please Sherlock……..” He kissed Kesh’s parted lips, as his hands slid down to cup his ass, pulling him closer, pushing Sherlock deeper. He hummed into Kesh’s ears, “Mine…….my Kesh….that’s it, move like that…..can you feel it, feels good doesn’t it? That’s it wrap your legs around me, Kesh....all mine.” He nipped and bit and licked, as he snaked one hand between them to wrap his hand’s around Kesh’s length and stroked, Kesh’s broken sobs sounding like music to his ears, “Love you, love you Sherlock…..I can’t take this….please I need to come…..so intense, so intense Sherlock…”

He played with Kesh’s body like a master at his peak, creating his masterpiece; he played with his own drowning, overwhelmed body and mind, unable to understand the sheer potent mix of fierce protectiveness and uncontrollable passion.

He sat up, heart thudding loud in his chest, hair plastered around his forehead with sweat, limbs trembling from effort and need, his beautiful eyes held Kesh’s as if both were spell bound, as he fucked and stroked, and both gasped and moaned.

As Kesh spilled over, he moved the come stained hand to his face and licked and then holding both thighs he tilted him further, driving in with brutal desperate thrusts as he edged towards completion. And then he stopped breathing as from his pelvis, deep throbs of pleasure erupted and he climaxed inside his Kesh, a hoarse, violent roar wrenched from his parched throat. He stayed locked in a post coital haze, his head thrown back in exhiliration, his body shuddering, deep gasping breaths shaking his whole chest. It was a while before he felt the moistness on his face, tears streaming down….. _Why am I crying? What’s wrong with me?_

He gulped as he straightened his head to look down at the man who had just given him his all, and they stared at each other, trying and failing to return to a semblance of lucidity. Kesh looked back in stunned euphoria….. lips still parted, as his moist eyes begged Sherlock closer. Sherlock slipped out of him, as he lowered and buried his tear stained face in the crook of Kesh’s neck and let himself shudder and tremble, safe in the knowledge, that he was loved, he was safe, not quite sure who it was that took and who got taken, lips repeating a soft mantra of , “Kesh, my Kesh….”

Kesh’s fingers gently cradled Sherlock close as he repeated over and over, “I love you, Sherlock, love you so much…..thank you, I never knew it could be like this….love you….it’s okay, I’ve got you….”

 

                                                                                ***

 

Two  hours later, in the silence of the night, the friends lay facing each other, freshly showered and changed as they held hands and talked and smiled and nuzzled, legs tangled together, voices hushed.

“You know, Sherlock, things are going to get chaotic from tomorrow….lots of people around, lots of noise. Will you be alright with that? The wedding is in three days. I will be busy with Uddhav, he is a very close friend... and Meera, well, if her father does not agree to give her away, it will be me. It is a big responsibility.”

“Don’t worry about me, Kesh. I have decided, if you can’t fight them, join them,” said Sherlock with a smile. “I’m going to enjoy myself, and go with the flow for once, instead of trying to control things.”

“You’ll enjoy it, I know you will.”

 

                                                                                                To be continued………….

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do consider leaving a comment, if you have read this far and liked anything.


	12. Saubhagya- Good Fortune

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very self indulgent chapter, with no redeeming quality whatsoever……
> 
> Because I wanted to take Sherlock Holmes to an Indian wedding…..

 

 

“Kesh, why is Meera looking yellow?”

Sherlock asked curiously, wide busy eyes trying to take in all the activity going around him. He was the most observant man he knew of, ( _well except for Mycroft)_ , and yet he found himself struggling to absorb the sheer lunacy that was being perpetrated all around his person.

It was the night before the wedding. A sea of humanity was everywhere. There were people constantly eating, people playing an assorted number of Indian musical instruments, while colorfully dressed women sang and danced, bangles and bracelets clanging in rhythm with the music. Groups of men seemed to have invaded every nook and cranny, the driveway, the backyard, the living room, the terraces, there seemed to be scarcely a place to sit in.

Around lunch time, some men had wandered to the second floor seeking a quiet place to park themselves and have a yarn. Sherlock had closed his bedroom door pointedly with a forbidding unsmiling face, till they disappeared down again. Haridas was summoned and told by Sherlock in no uncertain terms that he would _not_ tolerate people using his room as a lounge area.

Caterers were hard at work in the kitchen and the back yard, trying mightily to cope with the influx. Both places were filled with all kinds of women, wearing beautiful brightly colored saris and salwars that shimmered in the light with shining beads and little mirrors embroidered into the cloth with gold and silver threads, giggling and gossiping as their busy efficient hands seemed to create and distribute sumptuous smelling food effortlessly, almost absently.

The men had been evicted earlier out of the living room, as some sort of ceremony was about to commence. Meera, dressed in a plain nylon red sari with white, green and yellow polka dots was made to sit on a low wooden stool, as women gathered around her with steel and copper plates, flowers and incense sticks.

When the men were let back in, Meera posed demurely for photographs, even as her girlfriends laughed about how beautiful she would look the next day, how her husband was going to enjoy _being_ with her.

“Well,” Kesh laughed, “the day before the wedding, it is traditional to put turmeric paste on the bride and groom’s bodies to bring out their fairness and make them look beautiful for their wedding day.” He smiled fondly watching a restless Sherlock, hands clasped behind his back, like a caged lion who did not have enough space to pace around in.

_Look at him...... this is so much fun.....I bet we all look demented to him….isn’t it wonderful to see this through his eyes…..his eyes…. Are there more beautiful eyes in this world…How? It is not possible…_

He was brought out of his reverie by Sherlock’s incredulous voice, “They _want_ to look fair? But that's absurd! Do you know how much Caucasians spend every year, trying to go on holiday or saloons to turn dark and tan themselves?”

“What can I say, Sherlock?” Kesh look amused. “It is human nature to crave what we don’t have!”

“Look,” he said, pointing at the young women who gathered to sit down in a circle with Meera in the center. “They are now about to put henna on their hands and feet. This is traditional as well. _Mehndi_ is also called henna, it is a beautiful temporary reddish brown tattoo. It is said that the deeper the love, the darker the color will turn out.”

Sherlock bent his head towards Kesh’s ears, ostensibly to whisper over the loud background chatter, “In that case, my Kesh, henna on your hands would turn black, wouldn't it?” He thoroughly enjoyed the shy smile Kesh gave as he averted his eyes.

_Oh, I plan to enjoy this. He thinks he can laugh at me and make me uncomfortable. Well.... two can play this game._

“Namaste, Sherlock sir, Hrishikesh bhaiyya,” Vedant’s ever excitable voice called out as he strode towards them with a lovely young woman, her hair covered with her sari and a boy of about five years. “Sherlock sir, let me introduce you to my wife, Sonali. And this is my son, Vinod,” he said, pushing the child gently towards Sherlock. “My wife is a very good cook, Sherlock sir! If you ever want to eat anything, you can tell me. I will get her to make it for you and bring a container from home.”

As always, Sherlock found himself grinning when confronted by Vedant. But he nodded gravely, “Vedant if I eat anymore than I already am, I will possibly burst. Thank you for the offer all the same,” as he nodded at Sonali and shook hands with Vinod. Vinod looked up at him, gaping, his eyes round as he hesitantly held Sherlock’s hand and touched it. Kesh laughed aloud, eyes sparkling , “Sherlock, he is probably wondering who this alien is?” Sherlock smiled agreeably as he ruffled the child’s hair, he bent down conspirationally and whispered, “It's real skin!” Vinod grinned and ran to hide behind his mother’s sari, suddenly shy.

Vedant faced Sherlock eagerly, “Sherlock sir, Partha, Shankar and everyone else has brought their family. We are all sitting outside in the backyard, to let the important people use the house. Everyone is really eager to meet you. Please sir, can you come outside so our wives and children can also see you? Please Sir?”

“Gape at me, you mean,” muttered Sherlock under his breath even as he smiled at the earnest plea.

“Sherlock sir, did you know that Kesh bhaiyya thinks I know you best of all?" Vedant's chest puffed up with importance. "So I am supposed to look after you tomorrow, while he is busy with the wedding rituals!"

“Wonderful!" Sherlock rolled his eyes, as he followed Vedant to the backyard.

 

                                                                                                ***

 

The house was quiet, the guests had left by midnight. Kesh and Sherlock readied themselves for bed. Sherlock was already in bed, covered with a duvet, talking to Kesh as he tidied his desk. A soft knock sounded on the door. They exchanged glances before Kesh walked up to the door and opened it.

Meera stood outside, still draped in her sari, mehndi up to her elbows, smelling strongly of the fragrant eucalyptus oil applied over the dried mehndi.

“Can I come in, bhaiyya?” she asked in a soft voice.

“Of course, Meera. Is everything alright?” Kesh said, as Meera came into the bedroom and stood next to the desk, facing Kesh. Sherlock asked gently, “Would you like me to leave, Meera?”

“No, Sherlock sir. I promise I won’t be long, sorry for disturbing both of you,” Meera replied as Kesh gestured for her to take a seat and he sat on the bed. Meera shook her head, “Bhaiyya, I just came to tell you that I spoke to father again today. He reaffirms that he wants you to give me away tomorrow. He says he has other daughters. But you have been a true brother to me. You must give me away.”

“And what about you, Meera? What do you want?".

Meera went down on her knees in front of Kesh, her eyes reverent as she looked up at him.

“Bhaiyya, if it had not been for you, I would now be pregnant with the child of a fifty year old man. You saved me. You kept me in your house with honour and dignity." She lifted her henna filled hands up as if to show him and continued in a emotional voice, "You see this mehndi, bhaiyya? A man like Uddhav, a good man who has the privilege of being your friend, is marrying me tomorrow. Everything good in my life because of you. I cannot think of a greater blessing than you giving me away.”

Kesh smiled and stood up, “Meera you are a good person and I am very sure Uddhav and you will be very happy together. It will be an honour to give you away tomorrow.”

 

                                                                                ***

 

The morning of the wedding dawned early and bright. People started trickling in early, even as Sherlock and Kesh were getting ready. Kesh had explained to the day's events to Sherlock earlier. First they would leave for the wedding hall where everyone from the bride’s side would wait for the groom and his guests to arrive in a traditional group called _baaraat_. There would be much dancing and music. Following this would be the wedding ceremony. Then a grand dinner and reception for all the guests. And while the guests were busy with these festivities, throughout the day the bride and groom would be busy with one ritual after another.

“Sherlock, meet Pujariji,” said Kesh as he ushered an old man, wearing a white dhoti and kurta with a long red tilak on his forehead and _rudraksh_ mala ( a necklace of rudraksh beads) around his neck. He nodded at Sherlock and smiled as Kesh continued, “Pujariji will be the priest officiating all the ceremonies today.”

They were talking in the driveway when a group of women came out with Meera in the center, still wearing the nylon sari from the previous day. Pujariji moved towards her and started another ritual, chanting in Sanskrit, as Meera was made to put her hands first in turmeric paste and then in sindoor paste ( red colored paste) and touched her hands to the outside walls of the house, leaving red palm prints on the walls.

Kesh explained, “She is leaving her mark on the house that she is leaving for the last time,” even as Meera started crying. Women around her were also shedding tears, as they held and consoled her.

“Why is she crying? Isn’t she happy, she is getting married?” asked Sherlock incredulously as he watched.

Kesh shrugged his shoulders, “It is an emotional transition. The daughter of the house is leaving the protection of her family. She will be living in a new house, with new family members, the future is unknown. She has spent her life in this house, her childhood, her young adult years. We Indians are emotional people, Sherlock,” he smiled, his dimples flashing. “We are just waiting for an occasion to have a good cry." He laughed, as Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“Come Sherlock, we will accompany her to the wedding hall and welcome the baaraat and come back later to get dressed for the reception.”

 

                                                                                ***

 

The sounds of loud music and bursting firecrackers pierced the skies, as the procession of both the grooms made it’s  way to the wedding hall. The fireworks made a vivid display and the sounds competed with the beat music supplied by a wedding band which was in front. Traffic was trying to crawl along the sides of the road as the baaraatis, the friends and family of Uddhav and Shashank, Radha’s groom, danced and laughed. Behind the dancing folk were two white horses, colorfully decorated with feathers and red robes.  On one horse, wearing a white and red Sherwani, face covered with hanging flowers sat Uddhav. On another was Shashank.

The horses slowly made their way to the entrance of the wedding hall. Periodically they had to stop because the baraatis were dancing with abandon.

Sherlock, Kesh, Haridas and others were standing at the entrance to welcome the baaraatis. Uddhav’s mother and some family members were alongside, to welcome Shashank, her son-in-law and his family.

“It is traditional to welcome the groom’s side with humility and love,” shouted Kesh as he watched Sherlock’s eyes darting everywhere as they took in the sheer volume of people, the bright beautiful clothes and ostentatious jewellery, the uninhibited dancing and laughter, the friendly jostling and teasing. “We belong to the girl’s side, so we will have to be very respectful and welcoming,” he nudgeded Sherlock around his waist, laughing at Sherlock’s shocked expression.

Both friends were wearing silk kurtas; Kesh in the traditional cream and red, while Sherlock wore a delicately embroidered peridot kurta.

Uddhav and Shashank dismounted at the gate and Pujariji came forward for another ritual. Kesh stood at the entrance, his hands folded humbly in namaste, welcoming the guests.

Sherlock restricted himself to inclining his head in greeting as everyone who came in stared in obvious interest at this gorgeous unfamiliar foreigner, smiled briefly and then hastily looked away.

“And the wedding has not even started,” Sherlock muttered under his breath as he watched the entire congregation walk inside.

 

                                                                                                ***

 

The _mandap_ , the platform where the marriage was to be performed was bravely holding up as the marriage ceremony got underway. Radha and Meera both dressed in exquisite red, cream and golden saris, jewellery adorning their graceful necks and hands, the mehndi a dark dramatic red brown, sat demurely on wooden stools. Alongside them sat their grooms, trying to look nonchalant and in control. Relatives surrounded them. Pujariji was chanting Sanskrit mantras.

Sherlock stood in a corner and watched, an intrigued look on his face as a faithful Vedant stood by his side, looking chuffed to be in his delegated role as companion to “the pale man from foreign”.

Kesh was on the mandap, sitting across Meera and Uddhav, as the Pujariji chanted. He washed Uddhav’s feet with sacramental water, tying colourful threads around both their hands as the Pujari instructed.

“Kesh bhaiyya is going to give her away. It is a big blessing both for him and Meera,” explained Vedant. “Now they will exchange garlands,” he continued as the bride and groom put huge garlands of flowers in each other’s necks, to loud cheers from the crowd. A similar ceremony was being carried on alongside with Radha and Shashank. Bride  and groom were next made to walk around a central fire, taking oaths of marriage, as the Pujari kept chanting.

“Normally it is less chaotic but with two weddings together and both related to each other.... it is a bit difficult.”

Meera looked emotional as she glanced at Kesh, before bowing her head, to allow Uddhav to put a gold necklace with black beads threaded to it around her neck. Kesh watched with tears in his eyes, as well.

“This necklace is called the _mangal sutra_. It is a signifier of a married woman. Once her husband passes away, she cannot wear it anymore.”

Uddhav extended his hand to put _sindoor_ , a bright red powder, into the parting in Meera’s hair. Tears spilt from Meera’s eyes as she inclined her head.

“Why is she crying again, Vedant?” Sherlock asked curiously.

“Because, the sindoor is the most important signal of marriage. She is now Uddhav’s, no longer her father’s or Kesh bhaiyya’s. They have no more right over her,” replied Vedant.

“Oh for God’s sake! I understand the rituals are complex but she must have cried and then laughed in succession a dozen times since yesterday. Where I come from they would certify her as mentally unsound!”

Vedant shrugged his shoulders as he opened his mouth, and both Sherlock and he ended up chorusing at the same time, “ _It is traditional_.” They laughed at the coincidence and insanity together.

_Hey, he is not bad. He understands our jokes. Maybe from foreign, but he is alright._

Vedant grinned, “Well the formal marriage ceremony is over. Now both brides and grooms will take the blessings of the elders,” he gestured towards them.

The two newly married couples were taking the blessings of first the Pujariji and then the parents. They then walked up to Kesh. Shashank did namaste to Kesh first. Then Uddhav walked up to him and bent down to touch his feet with his hands, even as Kesh bent down to pick him up and embraced him warmly. Both friends looked at each other, joy on their faces. Uddhav said, “Now I am formally related to you, Hrishikesh. We are friends _and_ we are brothers- in-law.”

Then Radha and Meera came forward, looking beautiful and demure. Radha touched Kesh’s feet with her hands as well. Meera looked at Kesh for a little while, then went down on her knees. She touched her head to the ground in front of Kesh’s feet. Kesh murmured quietly, his voice emotional, tears in his eyes, “ _Saubhagyavati Bhava_ , Meera,” (May you have good fortune) as he extended one hand and placed it on Meera’s saree covered head. 

Sherlock watched as there was a hushed silence, almost everyone overcome by the sight, _Not a single dry eye in the crowd...._ He cleared his throat unobtrusively.

“It is a great fortune, Sherlock sir, to be able to get the blessings of someone as great as Hrishikesh bhaiyya. When someone like him puts his hand on your head in protection, you are truly looked after,” said Vedant in an unusually somber voice, watching the scene with his palms folded in namaste.

Sherlock watched Kesh as he picked Meera up gently and wiped her tears with his fingers. He smiled before saying something funny and everyone burst into laughter.

_My Kesh, look at you…..who are you?_

After some time, Kesh came down from the mandup and walked towards Sherlock, beaming broadly. “Everything went well, Sherlock,” he said, clasping Sherlock’s arm in jubilation. “Now we just have one last job to do and then fpr the rest of the day, we can enjoy the celebrations.”

“What job?” asked Sherlock warily, his eyes narrowed.

Kesh waved his hands about vaguely, his smile mischievous, “We have to feed the groom’s and his guests, of course. We must coax and cajole them to eat more, serve sweet dishes, and generally make them feel welcome. And you, my friend, are on the bride’s side, so it is your duty to help in this as well.”

“Have you lost your mind, Kesh? I wouldn’t have a clue about what to do,” replied Sherlock. Kesh laughed and dragged him by his arm to the dining area saying, “Come on then. Let me show you.”

 

 

                                                                                ***

The dining hall was buzzing with energy. The guests were sitting on chairs placed across many long narrow rows of tables, much like at school. On the tables in front of each chair were steel plates and bowls, laden with food. The chatter was incessant and rambunctious. Men wearing caterer’s uniforms were moving around with different dishes; hot curries, pickles, salads, dals, sweet dishes, savoury snacks. They respectfully bent down when people stopped them and topped up their plates.

At the center, were round tables which seated the newly weds and their close families. A busy photographer was bustling about taking photographs of Meera and Radha feeding their husbands, amid much laughter and teasing. The arrival of Kesh and Sherlock drew loud calls of welcome as they walked up to the tables and Kesh talked and laughed. Sherlock smiled cordially and answered the occasional questions. By now, he knew most of Kesh’s friends and they too had come to accept this new friend of Kesh.

Kesh explained, “We must now go row by row, where the groom’s family is sitting, and cajole them to have some more food, some more sweets. If they refuse, you must try to force them to eat it. Emotional blackmail is not off limits. It is _tradition_ , Sherlock, stop rolling your eyes." Kesh laughed as he dragged him to demonstrate what needed to be done.

He stopped in front of a group of ladies. He stopped a caterer and took a laddoo (an Indian sweet) in one hand and leaned forwards towards one of the older ladies. He said sweetly, “Please have some more.... _please_ , we have worked so hard to make everything good. Otherwise we will feel you did not like the food. For _my_ sake, please have it.”

The motherly woman obligingly opened her mouth and accepted the laddoo, as she smiled and replied, “The food is delicious! All the preparations are wonderful, Hrishikesh.”

Kesh turned to Sherlock, raising his eyebrows, gesturing with his hands that Sherlock do the same. Sherlock looked around, everyone’s eyes were on him, amused. Waiting to see what this foreigner does! He felt completely our of his depth, but then he noticed the naughty twinkle in Kesh’s eyes. His own narrowed in defiance. _Oh no you don't, Kesh....._ He picked up a laddoo and went to the young, beautiful woman, who was next in line.

He pitched his voice low, his smile seductive, “Please, will you have this for _me?_ It would make me _so_ happy.” The woman’s eyes grew large, staring up at this vision, before she regrouped and gave Sherlock a come-hither look and grasped his wrist. She pulled him closer, bringing the hand that held the laddoo to her mouth. Voice sultry, she purred, “If someone who looks as _divine_ as you were to give me even _poison,_ I would eat that too." As she bit into the laddoo, she playfully nipped the tip of his finger and then tilted her head and licked her lips. Sherlock stared at her, horrified until he heard the good natured snorts and laughs all around, as everyone started ribbing him good-naturedly about his discomposure.

He laughed as well, “Bloody hell! I need some air after _that_!” The laughter followed them as they moved on.

                                                                                ***

 

It was half six in the evening as Kesh entered his bedroom. Hearing Sherlock moving around in the bathroom, he yelled out, “Sherlock, I have to go now. You can get ready and get Vedant to drive you to the marriage hall. The guests have started arriving and I have no Uddhav to assist me. So I have to go now.” He walked into the bathroom as he was talking. And stopped and stared.

Sherlock was standing in front of the large mirror behind the twin sinks, naked and shaving. He looked up as Kesh walked in and stopped mid movement. His eyes darkened as he turned to face Kesh, who was dressed in a cream and gold Sherwani, red tight silk churidar bottoms and a matching red beautifully embroidered silk scarf around his shoulders.

_My Kesh, how exquisite  you look…..I forget how beautiful you are….your enticing smile…. Your dimples….your elegance…..your gorgeous brown eyes……My Kesh……mine……I could have him, right here, right now…..strip these lovely clothes off……..and take him….._

Kesh stood and stared at Sherlock’s naked body, his gaze flitting from the stunning face to the sculpted body and lingering on the long, limp cock resting against a bed of tight black curls.

_Look how beautiful he looks…will I ever get used to seeing him….wish I could stay here…..how am I allowed to look at this, touch this…..I could stand here and look at him all day…..I have to go…..where do I have to go again??...._

Sherlock broke the silence, “You look ravishing, Kesh." He stepped closer and tilted Kesh’s head up with his hand under his chin and smiled, “I think I’d like to ravish you.”

Kesh's voice was a dry rasp, “God must have taken such a long time to make you, used all his skills… I could look at you all day." He ran his fingers over Sherlock’s chest and down towards his groin. He touched his cock, gently running his fingers over the length, “I want to kneel down..... I want to take you in my mouth and give you pleasure” he confessed as his body swayed towards Sherlock.

“Tonight, Kesh. Right now you have to go. I will join you at the reception.” He forcefully turned Kesh around, and slapped his ass, “I promise, I will make your jaw hurt tonight. But for now, _Go._ ”

 

                                                                                                ***

 

The large air conditioned wedding hall was littered with chairs. It was buzzing with activity and noise. Groups of people stood around having conversations and laughing periodically. Everyone had changed for the reception and dressed more formally. Men were mostly wearing suits, women had changed into saris or colourful lehangas adorned with beads and glittering stones and embroidery. Gold and diamond jewellery flashed everywhere. Fruit juices and cold beverages were being served along with hot savoury finger foods in dainty napkins.

Kesh stood amidst a large group of his friends and their wives, laughing as funny jokes were told. Everyone kidded each other, comfortable with the familiarity of years of acquaintance.

Suddenly, a hush fell upon the crowd as one by one their gaze was drawn to the entrance. Kesh noticed their expressions and turned around as well craning his neck to check what had entranced them.

Sherlock Holmes stood at the doorway, looking like a vision. He paused for dramatic effect before walking in, his gait that of an imperious lion in the jungle.

He was wearing a knee length silk black Sherwani and churidar. The black color was embellished with a dramatic deep turquoise fabric at the stiff collar and  at the wrists. The same fabric covered all the big round buttons running down its length in the center. The collar sat snuggly against his fair, elegant long neck, the turquoise creating a dramatic contrast with his skin, magnifying and enhancing the exotic otherworldly beauty of his changeable blue-green-gray eyes and his fair translucent skin. The suit was fitted to his slender, elegant frame, enhancing the broad shoulders, the narrow waist, the luscious bottom. Thrown around his shoulders in careless elegance was a deep turquoise embroidered silk scarf. The effect was a combination of a distinguished formal bespoke suit, enhanced with traditional Indian design.

He walked in, acutely aware of the drop in conversational level, the gaping mouths, the eyes following him, and he enjoyed it. His eyes scanned the room until they settled on his Kesh, standing with a morsel of food halfway to his mouth, staring at him unblinkingly with big round eyes. _Oh Kesh, so hopeless at pretense..…._

He walked up to the group and graciously greeted all of Kesh’s friends, before pulling Kesh aside, “Please excuse us. I need to talk to Kesh about something.”

He looked amused, pleased, “Kesh….you look faint. Are you alright? Take deep breaths, my Kesh.”

Kesh looked at him, unable to keep the adoration out of his eyes, as he dutifully started breathing.

 

                                                                                ***

 

“Oh Hello!” said a plump, middle aged woman in a green garish chiffon sari, decked with imitation diamond jewellery, as she sidled up to a lone Sherlock with a young, rather timid looking girl, wearing a pink lehanga choli. She wrapped her hand around Sherlock’s forearm with familiarity, ignoring the haughty look with ease.

“You are Hrishikesh’s friend, yes? My name is Mrs Mathur. This is my daughter, Leena. We are so pleased to meet you!” she said moving closer and gazing up at him. “I hear you are from London. Must be a wonderful city. Anywhere that is foreign is better than India, I always say! I want to send Leena to foreign as well, “ she continued, pulling Leena closer. “She is a very good cook, she has studied till year 12. It is considered a big thing for a girl to study this much,” she gushed.

Sherlock looked at her with wry amusement, as she continued with the question on her mind, “Are you married? Are you looking for a wife?”

“Oh there you are, Mrs Mathur!” Another woman in her fifties, her dressed-up daughter in tow interrupted them, ignoring the glare from Mrs Mathur. "I've been looking all over for you,” she said her eyes looking assessingly at Sherlock. “We haven’t been introduced, my name is Mrs Khatri. _So_ lovely to meet you. Friend of Hrishikesh I hear.... from London…..” Sherlock struggled to keep a straight face, chuckles threatening to erupt from his belly, as he looked up and caught Kesh’s eye. Kesh stood a distance away, orange juice in one hand, looking on with amusement at the scene.  They had a silent conversation with their eyes, Sherlock gave a nod to suggest that he was fine. Kesh left to mingle some more.

It was a few minutes later that a worried looking Haridas crept up to Kesh and pulled on his arm urgently, “Hrishikesh! Just look at them! Now there are four women with their daughters, trying to chat up our Sherlock. You must do something. What if he decides to get married to one of them?”

Kesh laughed, his hand gentle as he pulled Haridas closer by his shoulder, “But Haridas, you just said he is _our_ Sherlock. How can he leave us and get married to one of them?”

 

                                                                                ***

 

The congregation stood crowded around the entrance, as both brides clung to their family members and cried. The grooms looked guilty and striken, as everyone hugged Meera and Radha and burst into tears.

Vedant stood, tears streaming down his pudgy faces, as he explained to Sherlock, “This is the last ritual, Sherlock Sir. It is called _Bidai_ , where the bride is saying goodbye to her family for the last time,” he sobbed, his voice plaintive. Sherlock rolled his eyes as he removed a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it over to the distraught man, “And of course they are _never_ going to meet again. And of course, that is why _you_ are crying?” He chuckled, his sarcasm not lost on Vedant.

“Laugh all you want, Sherlock Sir, this is a very emotional time. You should see how much everyone cries in the movies,” he dabbed his eyes with Sherlock's handkerchief, looking at Sherlock accusingly.

Sherlock smiled good naturedly as he looked on, eyes fixed on Kesh …. _his_ Kesh.

 

                                                                                ***

 

They stood out on the terrace. After the noise of the past four days, the house seemed eerily quiet. Kesh looked thoughtful as he looked out at the mountains. Sherlock came to stand behind him, holding him close with a hand around his waist. Kesh leaned back on Sherlock's chest gratefully. They both stood quietly for a long time, staring at the mountains ahead, lost in thought. Finally, Kesh said softly, “The house is so quiet. She won’t be here tomorrow morning to feed you.”

Sherlock’s deep voice rumbled through Kesh, “I know, Kesh.”

Kesh turned around and buried his face into Sherlock's chest. “Take me to bed, Sherlock,” he said quietly. Sherlock kissed his forehead, “They’ll be fine, Kesh. Let’s go in, it is late.”

Sherlock was gentle as he took Kesh in his arms that night, his movements tender, unhurried as he grasped both their cocks together in one large palm and stroked them to completion, allowing Kesh to bury his face in his chest as he held him close, whispering endearments, “My Kesh, you are so beautiful, my Kesh….”

 

                                                                                ***

 

Sherlock bounded down the staircase, hair still wet from his shower. They had just finished their morning meditation session and he was dying for a cup of hot chai tea.

Kesh was in the kitchen with Haridas, sipping tea as they discussed the wedding and how things had gone. Both smiled, as Haridas, ran forward to get Sherlock’s tea and fussed over him.

“Haridas was just saying the house is a mess, he has so much to do,” said Kesh still smiling.

“There is rubbish _everywhere_. It will take at least a week for everything to come back to normal. I do have Partha and Shankar to help me. And Vedant’s wife, Sonali is going to come and help with the cooking,” explained Haridas. “Meera was looking so beautiful, wasn’t she, Kesh?”

“I thought all the girls were looking beautiful, especially the ones who had _surrounded_ Sherlock during the reception. Which lucky one is to be your wife, Sherlock?” Kesh teased and then laughed at the disdain on Sherlock’s face.

“Oh Sherlock, I forgot to tell you. You got a letter today in the mail,” said Haridas as he left the kitchen to fetch it.

Sherlock lifted his eyebrows at Kesh, who looked back, sudden alertness in his expressive eyes.

Haridas hurried back and handed over an envelope to Sherlock, smiling. Kesh watched as Sherlock’s breath hitched, eyes narrowed as he accepted the letter wordlessly. He held the tattered envelope with light fingers as he stared at the familiar neat, small handwriting, running his delicate fingers slowly over the post mark, the writing, his jaw clenched.

There was silence for a long time. Sherlock stared at the envelope, Kesh watched Sherlock and Haridas looked at both of them, puzzled.

Abruptly, Sherlock stood up, cup of tea forgotten, “Please excuse me.” He left the room without a glance at Kesh. His footsteps thundered in the silence he climbed the stairs two at a time and they heard his door slam shut.

After a beat, Haridas asked Kesh, voice filled with cautious worry, “Whose letter was that Kesh? Why is Sherlock upset?”

Kesh was quiet for a long time as he stared fixedly at the still steaming cup of tea, lost in thought. Finally, he murmured in a quiet voice, “My guess is it is from his hometown. From his friend, John,” as he got up and left as well.

Haridas stood alone, watching the swinging door, concern writ large on his face, hands wringing the tea towel.

                                                                               

 

                                                                                To be continued………


	13. Saunshayahah-Doubt

It was half five in the afternoon that Kesh ventured into Sherlock’s room.

Finding it empty, he went out on to the terrace, to find Sherlock lounging on the sofa divan, gaze focused on the distant mountains He held three crumpled pages to his chest with one hand, the other hand under his head. He did not turn around when Kesh entered, only the blinking of his eyes and tightening of his hands on the paper showed that he was aware of Kesh’s presence.

Kesh came and sat down across Sherlock on another divan, cross legged, spine straight, face serene, as he set his eyes on Sherlock. He waited silently.

Sherlock sat up after some time and slid the papers across the coffee table towards Kesh. He also removed a few photographs from the envelope and passed them along as well. Kesh’s gaze did not waver from Sherlock’s face as he waited patiently.

“It is a letter from John,” said Sherlock, voice roughened from hours of disuse. “He has sent some photographs as well.” Sherlock glanced up to catch the slight inclination of Kesh’s head and the bright alertness in his eyes, as he listened. “I will see the photographs later, Sherlock. Tell me,” he said softly.

Sherlock looked at him, part of him framing what he had to say, part of him observing Kesh with narrowed eyes.

_You are centering yourself, Kesh. I always thought you were a good listener, I never realized why. It always felt like you listen with your entire being .Now that you have taught me the techniques, I can see that you actually center yourself in your being, past all the other layers. How fast you do it, Kesh!_

Sherlock shrugged, “Not much to tell. He…..he is well. Both him and Mary and their daughter…….Rosa…they are calling her Rosa. She looks beautiful in the photos. But then both John and Mary are good looking. He has started work at the clinic. Mary is still on leave. The baby, Rosa is doing well. He misses me, misses going on cases, having somewhere to go to where life is exciting. A little dazed by the routine of life….work, baby, work, baby…he calls it. He says Lestrade is tearing his hair and waiting anxiously for me to come back. There have been some really intriguing cases in my absence. He gave details of some of the cases and some unusual wounds that he saw, when he went to see Molly.”

Sherlock took another deep breath, “He went with Lestrade to see Mrs Hudson a month ago. She’s……she’s well. But she told them she feels lonely all by herself in that big house. Like I was gone all over again, as I have done previously…… Finally he called Mycroft and got the address for your house from him.” He gave an amused snort as he added, “John, does not like Mycroft. Thinks he is pompous, pretentious and has never forgiven him for what he thinks is a betrayal, talking to Moriarty about me.”

Sherlock stood up and began to pace around the terrace as he continued, “John….John is a bit _peeved_ with me for leaving without informing him, is wondering where I am and what the hell do I think I am doing.” He looked out at the far distance and was quiet for a while longer.

Finally he turned around to face Kesh.

_Kesh….. I have spent almost every moment in the company of this man for the past two months….have shared with him my deepest fears, my despair, my anguish, my doubts……have shared with him, my body……in front of him I am naked,  he sees me like no one else…..even with Mycroft I am able to maintain some barriers….with John, so many of them are up….my put-upon conceit at my intellect, my disdain for the world, my apparent eccentricities which he enjoys getting angry with…….. But Kesh...... there is nothing I have ever concealed from him. He has seen me at my lowest, my most vulnerable. Even now there is no need to hide….I can say what I have to and be understood...... Kesh….._

Aloud, he said, “Kesh, I have spent all morning thinking.” He took a deep breath, and continued. "About London, about my _Work_ , about John, about what I left behind when I came here. It seems like I forgot my life while I was here. Being with you, spending time with you, learning from you.” He gestured around at the house, the mountains, the surrounds, “I was happy. I felt fulfilled. But I have read and reread that letter and I realize that I cannot stay here forever. I cannot lead your life out here, attending funerals and weddings. This is not who I am. This is not where I belong.”

He glanced at Kesh’s impassive face, _Fuck, Kesh, say something_......His hands moved about to emphasize his point, “Kesh, I am brilliant. I’m….I am _stunning_ at what I do. You should see me when I am working. The police call me, they first think of me the moment they get anything even slightly out of the ordinary. They hold the crime scene for me, when I walk in I am able to command any line of inquiry I want, they listen to every word and follow my instructions knowing that I will lead them to the truth. I have clients queuing up for my services and showering me with useless expensive gifts. I have reporters following me asking me to make speeches.”

He resumed pacing as he talked, arms waving, voice imploring for Kesh to understand, “Even Moriarty, the greatest criminal mind of our generation, even he recognized my genius. Kesh, you should have seen it, we were flirting over corpses, he left no stone unturned to literally seduce me with games, so enamoured was he with me, so desperate for my attention! Irene Adler, a formidable woman, even she was besotted with me because of my phenomenal mind.”

He paused in his pacing to face Kesh, his expression animated, “When I am confronted with a puzzle, my mind buzzes and seems to work at a million bits per second, like an amazing supercomputer, computing, analyzing, deducing….. it is the most thrilling part of my life, when I am the happiest because I am lost in solving a mystery. And John….” Sherlock gave a fond chuckle, “John follows me everywhere, faithfully taking notes, covering my back, writing up about my brilliance, my deductive skills, my escapades.”

He got even more animated as he paced, “I did tell you that he keeps a blog. Of our unusual cases, about my extraordinary intellect. Sometimes he tries to humanize me, as if I were not quite human. But a superhero......Kesh.....Over there, in my element, in my city, doing what I do, that is who Sherlock Holmes is. Here I am your friend. I have no other identity. How can I live here forever?”

He stopped pacing and looked at Kesh as he walked towards him. He sat on the coffee table next to Kesh and sighed, “I will have to go back. Do you see? That is what I have been thinking all morning.”

Kesh’s  eyes became even more alert, a look of understanding on his face as he continued to observe quietly.

Sherlock leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees and looked down for a while, silent as he tried to organize in his mind what he had to say next.

He took another deep breath. “But then, I have also been thinking about you…..about us.” He looked up into the warm brown eyes, “about what you have come to mean to me. About how much I mean to you. About how much you love me. About how much of yourself you have given to me, including your body, your virginity, out of that love. About how loved and treasured and safe I feel with you. How I don’t have to think about the world when I am with you. All my pointless, repetitive thoughts, all my anguish, all usual sentiment gone...... since I have come here. About what will happen to you if I leave.”

He ran his fingers through his hair and tugged as he tried to convey his frustration.

“How….. _how_ can I leave you? How will you handle it, losing me again, after everything that you have so selflessly done for me, given to me? What right do I have to enjoy you physically for my gratification, to use you for my healing emotionally and then leave? It would be wrong. It would be selfish. I have been happier here, with you, in your world, than I have been for a long time. Part of me wants to stay here with you, be happy, share your life,” his voice got higher, the words came faster as he spoke.

He stood up again to face the mountains. Hands clasped into fists, he bowed his head as he took a few deep breaths. He turned around and walked towards Kesh. He knelt down in front of his friend.

His voice was soft, the anguish of indecision in his eyes. “I fear, Kesh. What if……what if I decide to go back and fall into the same wrong ways of thinking? You have taught me so much. Why would I jeopardize what I have and risk losing everything?” He pulled Kesh’s hand into his own, bending down to kiss the palm. "Please, Kesh. Please understand. Understand what I am saying. I do not want you to think that I have deceived you, used you. I care about you so much but I don’t know if staying here is an answer. Please, Kesh, tell me what you are thinking. I want…..I need…..”

He broke off, his eyes mute and pleading…

_Kesh, talk to me. Tell me I am a fool. I want the emotional part of you, Kesh…to tell me how much you love me, how much you don’t want me to go. I want the intellect to argue, tell me all the logical reasons I should not go. I want the physical part of you to sway towards me and look at me with hungry eyes, promising the fulfillment of all my desires so that there is no reason to leave. Don’t withdraw, Kesh. I have been happy here, part of me is afraid of going back. But logic tells me I should. Living here long term is not an option. I am also excited at the thought of going back, armed with all that you have taught me.I am a right bastard, Kesh. Get angry with me. Please say something, Kesh……_

Kesh looked at the anguish in the blue-gray eyes, at the conflict of two opposing ideas on his friend’s face.

 He observed for a few seconds, _himself_ , to make sure that what he spoke came from his core and not his emotional self, which had gone catatonic at the thought of life without Sherlock. It would _not do_ to bias his words with his own foolish desires. He watched his mind and his selfish thoughts and resolutely pushed them aside. The need of the hour was to only consider what was right for Sherlock, for his friend. His needs and desires came a poor second.

He pulled Sherlock towards himself gently, “Come here. You've beat yourself up into a frenzy over nothing.” He cradled Sherlock’s head to his chest, gently kissed his forehead. Sherlock buried his face into Kesh's chest gratefully. _Only you, Kesh.....only you could ever take this betrayal so calmly......_ He had spent the entire day carefully organizing his thoughts into twin streams of London, the Work, everyone he had left behind on one hand and Kesh on the other. He rested awhile in the arms of his friend. His thoughts slowed and breathing got calmer as he allowed the warmth and love of Kesh’s hand seep into him. He was aware that Kesh was thinking, that he would carefully consider his words and only that which was best for him would come out of his mouth.

After a few moments, Kesh pushed him away gently. He stood with his hands in his pockets, looking at Shelrock who was seated on the divan looking up at him expectantly.

“Sherlock, tell me something. Why exactly did you come to India? What did you want to find?”

Sherlock pursed his lips as he thought, looking out at the distant mountains. Finally, his gaze settled on Kesh again, “Inner peace. An end to sorrow. Freedom from the tyranny of my mind, my sentiment….Freedom from my unrequited obsession with John and the resultant angst…..A search for something within me that I could fall back on. Rest........ to take a rest from being Sherlock Holmes and just _be_ …..”

Kesh nodded approvingly, “Tell me, have you found all that you came for?”

Sherlock's teeth worried his lips as he considered. Eventually he said, “I will answer the easiest and most obvious first, Kesh. I am no longer obsessed with John. I am not pining for him. I don’t crave him or his company. I am of course still fond of him. He is a good man. He is my friend. I….. Kesh, I haven’t even thought about touching him since we……since we became intimate. I do feel well rested, and ready to be Sherlock Holmes again. I do feel happy and peaceful…..there is a niggling feeling that there is something more I need to learn, to convert this peace into a permanent state.....I can't explain it...But yes, I would say I've achieved far more than I had hoped for."

Kesh nodded, satisfied with the honest answers and the thinking that went into them. “There were a few issues you have raised, let me give you my responses to them. Mind you, these are just responses. It is you who has to reflect on everything, to come to the right decision. Sherlock, now that you know the techniques of approaching your Higher self, asking aid from it, _do it_. I implore you to not let your outer self make the decision for you.”

He walked back and sat across Sherlock, his voice quiet, “First, the issue about going back to London. Where you feel fulfilled, where you are in your element, where your intellect shines and you are able to put it to good use. The place, where Sherlock Holmes is resplendent as himself, and not a mere shadow of Kesh......Of course you need to go back.”

Sherlock’s head jerked up, the calm matter-of-fact words were the last thing he had expected to hear.

Kesh shook his head as he observed Sherlock's surprise. “You came here to learn something. Now you have to go back to the real world, to your life to _apply_ it and keep applying until you have mastered it all. Once you have done that only then can you be totally free, only then you can fully know what greatness you are capable of. Only then, further down the tract you can decide, from the position of that complete freedom, that fullness, where and how you want to lead your life. So the only question for now, is whether you are ready to go back now or wait.”

He smiled, “Sherlock, one comes to the classroom to study. One does not take up residence there. One comes to a retreat to rest and recuperate. One does not start building houses there." Sherlock's eyes reflected gratitude, understanding/

“As for us, for me…. That should _never_ be a factor in  your decision making. You have never deceived me. You have never pretended that you came here for me. You have never claimed to feel more for me, than you do. I am and will continue to always be your friend. I love you and as I said to you before, I will always love you. My love is not dependant on your location or your reciprocation. I was and will be alright because no matter where you go I will always be with you in spirit.” His smile was self-conscious, "About the sex….taking my virginity.....Sherlock, I have never loved anyone else before you. I do not think I can ever love anyone else. This body….,” he waved his hands vaguely over his body, "This inert body, made of flesh and bone is nothing. _I_ belong to you, what to speak of this body. And tell me, Sherlock, who else could have had my virginity? _Who else_ could have taught me about sex? When I am _yours_ , where would I go to learn about these things? Please do not feel you have used me. You have not. You have only claimed that which is rightfully _yours_ and will always belong to you.”

Sherlock swallowed at the sudden lump in his throat, nostrils flaring with emotion at Kesh's words. He _knew_ the cost Kesh was paying to say this. He knew how much he was loved, how much Kesh was willing to give up for his happiness. He stayed quiet and listened, well aware that his friend was not done.

“I have warned you against attachment, Sherlock. It will always bring grief and confusion. I beg you, do not get attached to me. Do not remove your attachment to John Watson and let it grasp Hrishikesh Yadav instead. I have told you previously, _Man’s grasp is small, but his reach is not small. Stop grasping and you can reach the universe._ ”

For the very first time Kesh looked stern….angry even, his eyes flashed as he scolded Sherlock, “After all that you have learnt, after all that you have practiced, how… _how_ can you let yourself fall prey to wrong thinking again? When confusion strikes, go inwards, seek inwards. _All_ answers come from within. When you are looking for answers outside of yourself, you are still playing at the fringes. You are not committed.”

He stood up, "I expect better from you. You are better, smarter, _greater_ than this. You are equipped to deal with this. I told you once before, it is easy to be wise when the questions are rhetorical and you are alone. There comes a time for application, Sherlock. Apply yourself. _Lift yourself, by yourself_. You have the capability _. All_ of us have it. Have faith in what I say and lift yourself out of this confusion. Don’t let your lower self-- your body, your emotions, your wavering mind pull you down. That is their job. Seek the Higher. Ask for guidance about when you should return. I will await your answer.”

He gave a short nod as he strode out of there, leaving a Sherlock lost in painful silence.

 

                                                                                ***

 

Kesh was sitting in his study, a tattered, much-used copy of the Bhagavad Gita in his hands, eyes narrowed in concentration, as he heard pounding furious steps outside his door. He gently closed the book and put it aside and waited. He had anticipated this visit.

Uddhav strode in and stopped short at seeing Kesh looking at him. Jaw clenched, a huge frown on his face, his chest heaving with emotion, he looked at Kesh. “Haridas called me,” he said by way of explanation.

Kesh observed mildly, “Haridas worries too much.”

Ignoring Kesh, Uddhav paced as he hissed with anger, “He said that Sherlock had received a letter from John. That he has been secluded in his room all day. That you looked thoughtful and grim. What is going on? What is it now? Why can’t things go right for you, just once? Is he leaving again?” his voice rose as his agitation spilt from every gesture.

Kesh said softly, “Uddhav, it is the first day of your marriage. Your place is by your wife’s side. Not here, worrying about me. And to answer your question, yes, Sherlock will most likely leave and go back to London. When, I do not know. All will be well, trust me.”

“Everything will be well?” Uddhav repeated incredulously. “What will be well? What, Kesh? He will leave again. He came here, wounded and vulnerable. _Twice_. Once physically, then emotionally. You bent over backwards trying to heal him. You left no stone unturned. He _used_ you to fix himself and now he might go again. Does he not realize how much he means to you? Does he not realize what his leaving will do to you? Do you not have any say in this? What gives him the right?”

Uddhav ranted, eyes glaring, as he continued to ignore the now stern look on Kesh’s face as his eyes followed the pacing Uddhav. _I have to say this. Someone has to look out for Kesh. He will always put Sherlock first. Sherlock is a bloody fool, does he not know what he has in his hands? The love of a great man. Bloody idiot. He may be the most brilliant man in the universe, but he is a fool of the first order._

He fumed, “How can he just waltz in here whenever he needs you and then just think about leaving when his needs are fulfilled?”

Kesh voice snapped through with the force of a slap, “Because I am his friend. Because this is his home. Where else will he go when he needs support, rest, shelter? He came for a visit, not to live here.”

In a gentler tone, he continued, “I know you care about me deeply, Uddhav. But do not worry about me, I will be fine. Uddhav, he is a genius, the most amazing mind of this century. He is a consulting detective, his work helps so many. He is a force against crime, against evil. His work is important, it is necessary. It is what gives him joy. He came here for something, he is on the cusp of finding it. I am not concerned about him leaving, I look worried and grim to Haridas, because I _am_ worried about him leaving prematurely.”

“Then tell him to stay,” Uddhav said.

“I cannot. We have had this conversation previously, Uddhav. _He_ has to want to stay. _He_ has to want to heal completely. This is not about love and emotions. This is about being fully prepared when he leaves.”

Uddhav wiped the angry tears rolling down his eyes with a trembling hand, his voice quieter “Forgive me for raising my voice, Hrishikesh. I can’t see things the way you do. I don’t understand half of what you say. I am an ordinary man. You are my friend, my everything. I can’t bear the thought of seeing you alone again. To see you so happy with Sherlock, and then think of seeing you alone, without a companion for the rest of your life. It is not like you will ever forget Sherlock and get married to someone, is it? How is this fair? You brought Meera into my life. What right do I have to that and why should you not have the love of your life with you? You, who only knows how to give to everyone, what they want. Why can’t you have what _you_ want for once in your life?”

He stood looking at Kesh, his expression miserable, “I like Sherlock a lot. He _is_ a great man. He is the one worthy of you. Part of me wants to go and shake him by the shoulder. Tell him how foolish he is….. Fall down to his feet and beg him to stay. I want to tell him, _Sherlock, I will be your slave for the rest of your life, I will serve you, please stay for Hrishikesh, he loves you so much_."

Kesh smiled gently as he walked up to the now subdued Uddhav, “You will do nothing of that sort, Uddhav. You will not talk to Sherlock right now, you will not influence his decision. I know you care about me. I am blessed to have a friend like you,” he said as he embraced his friend warmly.

 

                                                                                ***

The slim silver paayals ( musical anklets) chimed as Meera ran out into the front yard when she heard Uddhav’s car drive in. She stopped short on seeing Uddhav come out of the car, eyes anxiously searching his face. He looked at her and shook his head slightly, face morose as he turned and walked into the house, then to their bedroom. He sat down at the edge of the bed and gestured for Meera to close their bedroom door.

She walked towards him slowly and stood in front of him. Uddhav sighed as he buried his face between his wife’s breasts, resting in the warmth of her arms around him, breathing in her scent. He stayed still for a few moments, as Meera’s arms tightened around her husband’s shoulders, while she prayed silently for her brother.

Finally, he leaned back and said in a choked voice, “How is this fair, Meera? He united us, he brought us together. He just keeps _doing_ for everyone. How is he not allowed this happiness?” He sounded miserable, “The greatest and best man that I know. How can Sherlock even _think_ of not being with him, leaving him? How can he not see how lucky he is?”

Meera silently sat on the bed and pulled Uddhav closer to her, cradling his head on her chest, caressing his face as he continued, “I feel so impotent. There is nothing I can do, nothing I can say to either Sherlock or Hrishikesh. Meera, you were not here when Sherlock left last time. Hrishikesh went quiet…..so quiet. It was a while, before he came back to himself. I never want to see that again, Meera. It is not like, once Sherlock leaves, he is going to find and marry someone, to have a companion for himself. He loves Sherlock, only Sherlock. I have never seen him even look at anyone, man or woman, the way he looks at Sherlock. Like his sun shines out of Sherlock’s eyes. Like he cannot believe his luck. I have never seen anything like it.”

He sighed against Meera’s chest as a few moments of quiet followed.

“Uddhav, can I ask you something that has been on my mind?” asked Meera hesitantly.

Uddhav leaned up to kiss her, soft kisses on her full lips, eyes on her beautiful face, marveling that she was his wife. He pulled her sari down and traced her cleavage with a finger, marveling that he was allowed to do this. They had been _so_ intimate last night, their first time with anyone.

“Of course, Meera, ask.”

“Both of them are men. I have never seen this sort of thing between men before. It took a while for me to get used to the idea. Kesh bhaiyya is so masculine, so is Sherlock Sir. But they sleep on the same bed. How can they love each other? How does that even work?” she asked.

Uddhav frowned as he considered, “I don’t know about the physical part, Meera. I have never really thought about that. It is not my place. But you asked about love. I think, that men like Hrishikesh and Sherlock are so……evolved. They have such a subtle, higher intellect, they work from a higher vantage point…where you and I cannot even dream of reaching…..I cannot imagine that their minds would be so ordinary as to identify with their body, or gender, or race or any of the usual labels we put on people.” He shrugged, “Of course, this is just what I think. I don’t know anything. All I want is to see them happy.”

“Me too, Uddhav, me too….” said Meera quietly as she held him.

 

                                                                                                ***

The haunting, sad, melody of Sherlock’s violin pierced the night sky, from the second floor balcony. The sound carried through the open French windows and fluttering curtains of Kesh’s bedroom.

Kesh sat on the bed, back resting against the headboard, knees bent and hugged close to his chest. His face rested against the tops of his folded arms, resting on his knees. Tears brimmed over and splashed one by one on his arms, as he listened. He listened and allowed himself, this moment of weakness, of pain.  The melody was so beautiful, he could imagine Sherlock in his pajamas and t-shirt and his blue silk robe, standing outside, beautiful eyes closed, graceful body swaying to his own music.... playing.... thinking.

He glanced at the empty bed, the empty room and felt that if he really let go, he would be indeed swept away in his own tears.

_I am not enough….not enough for him. I failed……failed to be deserving of his love… failed to be enough…..he has to go back I know…..but he does not love me enough to even ask me to go with him….he is the most brilliant man I know..... how could he even think that I would stifle his talent out here….but he made it clear... I am important, but not too much…..it hurts worse this time….having known him, spent so much time together…..having known the bliss of being in his arms……I don’t know if I will ever feel it again…..I warned him against attachment, now look at me…..it is so hard….I will work on this, remove this need….but for now, while he is here, let me grieve just for a few minutes…..let me be weak and need him….I love him so much…..I wanted him to be mine too, just as I am HIS, his Kesh……there must be some flaw in me, something missing…..I am not enough……enough, Kesh….it has been a long day….you need to be ready to be Sherlock’s friend tomorrow, to help, to assist, to guide….that is your main role…you wanted unity….perhaps that is not to be, perhaps the higher powers have something better in store for him….he is a great man…..stop this weakness….that is enough of that._

He sat there for a long time, listening, thinking, as the melody played on....

 

 

                                                                                                To be continued…….

 

Paayals

 


	14. Abhyasa- Practice

The fluorescent green numbers on the clock at Sherlock’s bedside table showed 3.50 am when he climbed out of bed and stretched. Sleep had been sporadic and brief. He felt quite fresh though, and more to the point, he felt determined.

This is enough. This thinking, analyzing is getting me nowhere. Kesh said to seek within. I have never tried to meditate without his guiding hand, his mellifluous voice taking me deeper. But he believes I can do it. And so I will.

_“Sherlock, sitting in meditation is like having a date with yourself, your real self. The being that you are. It is as exciting and entrancing as a date with a loved one can be. The steps are few and not that hard. The important thing is to practice,earnestly. Even if you do not meditate, it is important to lead a meditative life. To look inwards, to bend every incident towards self knowledge, USE the world to learn lessons. You need to have a lifestyle conducive to meditation for meditation to work”._

He walked out into the night. It was a still night, large moon overhead, some cloud cover, the silence was absolute. He took a deep breath.

 _“The world is like a carnival, Sherlock. Ephemeral, impermanent and endlessly alluring. It is easy to get lost in it, to run around like a hamster on a wheel, running with all your might and reaching nowhere! The world is made of rings.” Kesh smiled wickedly as he continued, “But we forget…..forget that the hooks are all ours. Straighten your hooks and NOTHING can hold you.”_

He walked to the divan, and pulled a flat mattress down, not too soft, not too hard, not too high, not too low. Just as Kesh had advised. As he adjusted the seat and then himself on it, his eidetic memory helpfully replayed Kesh’s words.

_"We are made up of five layers or sheaths, Sherlock. The outermost sheath is the physical sheath. The inert matter that makes up the body. The most superficial and gross sheath. Pleasures experienced here are literally momentary. Eating tasty food, listening to pleasant music, watching something beautiful, having an orgasm. Once the stimulus is gone, so is the pleasure.”_

Sherlock sat cross legged, his spine and neck erect, his hands curled on his lap. He consciously relaxed each muscle as he kept repeating Kesh’s words in his mind.

_"Sherlock, the reason for a meditation posture is to stabilize the body, so that it ceases to be of import for some time. The posture is not important, rising above body-consciousness is the goal. Because you are now able to concentrate on the inner layers. You are no longer identified with your body. The longer you practice, the easier it becomes."_

Established in his posture now, Sherlock focused on his breathing.

_"The sheath underneath it is the vital sheath. This is the life force in you. When you breathe, when your heart beats, all of this is happening in the vital sheath. It is subtler than the physical sheath."_

He took deep breaths in and out for several moments. As he concentrated on his breathing, the body seemed to recede in the background. He then deliberately breathed alternately from each nostril, using his fingers to pinch each nostril, as he filled and emptied his lungs.

_"Some of the joys of life come from the vital sheath as well; when you use your body to experience physical exertion, sports, exercise, deep breathing, vigorous sex. This joy from the vital sheath is of a higher intensity than joy that comes from the body sheath, it lasts longer, perhaps for minutes or hours."_

Sherlock turned his focus to his mind next.

_"The third sheath is the mind. This is your emotional sheath. Where you experience pain, pleasure, joy, sorrow, triumph, disaster and you react to them. Where you feel anger, guilt, jealousy, hope, fear, despair and react to them. Where you store your memories of the past and aspirations for the future. This is the sheath with which you most strongly identify with. It is the center of the self seeking, aggrandizing, copyrighting ego. This is where you identify with your relationships. I am a son, I am a father, I am a friend, I am an enemy. All these come from here. This is the mental sheath. It is subtler, much more difficult to grasp than the body and breathing.It is the hardest to quell. But if you practice it, you will realize that the moment you are able to create a space between yourself and the mind, the moment you are able to watch the mind, you can command the mind."_

Sherlock started examining his mind---all the thoughts, the scattered, innumerable thoughts. He brought them out of his mind palace to examine them dispassionately. As he turned his focus towards his mind, his body was long forgotten, his breathing had become shallow, almost unnoticeable.

_"The joy from the mental sheath lasts even longer and is more intense. When you hold a loved one, when you experience pride from an accomplishment, when you anticipate something, when you reflect back on good memories.”_

Sherlock examined each feeling, each thought. The waves of nostalgia that had gripped him yesterday, the anxiety of what Kesh’s response would be, the excitement of going back to his Work, the wrenching sensation in his gut at the thought of leaving Kesh. He held each thought, he looked at it and then put it aside temporarily.

He turned his attention to his favourite sheath of all, the one where he genuinely felt at home.

_“The fourth sheath is your intellect. This is where your powers of analysis, your deductions, your rationale, your higher thinking, abstract thinking, your discrimination operates. This is your intellectual sheath. This is much more subtle, very difficult indeed to separate from the mind. Most people think that the two are one and the same. But they lie in different spheres altogether, you will realize if you analyse it.”_

He looked around at the glory, the beauty of his intellect, of what it was capable of and reveled in it for a while. This however was not what he was seeking. As he inspected his rational, higher mind, his tumultuous thoughts receded, the focus now removed from them. Body and breathing had long been forgotten.

_“The joy from the intellectual sheath is more profound and very intense. When you solve a puzzle, create something, debate and rationalize something, learn something. To you, Sherlock, I think for a majority of the time, you live in this intellectual sheath- the joy of deducing, the joy of composing your music- these are well known to you. The joy is so intense that you crave it; it is a very high caliber of happiness indeed.”_

With great reluctance and with some difficulty, Sherlock pushed his analytical brain aside as well. And was confronted initially with a nothingness….No thoughts …. just himself. Just a consciousness, not a consciousness _of_ anything….consciousness without a focus….vast, undivided fullness.

_“The last and final sheath, hidden under all this is the real you. The essence, that is pure being, pure existence, pure awareness, pure consciousness. This is you. This is the sheath of pure bliss. It is mighty, it is all powerful, from it springs everything outwards. When you connect to this, you command all the resources of the cosmos.”_

_“But, Kesh, if this sheath is consciousness, how can everyone have a different consciousness? How can consciousness be divided?”_

_Kesh laughed delightedly, “Exactly, Sherlock! There can be only one consciousness, only one truth. One without a second. At the essence of it, we are indeed one. All of us are part of a vast oneness. Like waves forming in an ocean, each wave thinks it is a separate entity and frolics during its short existence. But we are not separate. We are all the water only, the ocean only.”_

Sherlock sat, and witnessed…..just himself as consciousness.Without all extraneous factors that he identified himself with. Neither the body, nor the mind, nor the intellect. Nothing else existed. And having arrived, he asked, “What should I do?” And meditated in the absolute silence, around him and inside of him.

 

                                                                                ***

 

Haridas knocked the door gently and came into the study with chai tea and some biscuits. Seeing Kesh sitting near the window, lost in thought, he put the tea on the table and left as quietly as he could.

Kesh sat looking out, as he watched, transfixed.

_The most stunning image in the world. Look at that fair skin on the dark backdrop, that flawless still posture, those long limbs tucked in as he maintains his steadiness....nothing moving....STILL....does he look more beautiful like this or when he plays his violin and get lost in his music? But are they different states of mind? He is intensely focused inwards, with no awareness of the outside world or his outer persona. I suppose both are pure meditative states. No wonder he looks so beautiful in both. His core shines.....just look at how he SHINES......_

He had been watching his friend for the past four hours, with steadily increasing joy, satisfaction. He had come to his study to fetch something to read at five in the morning. Looking out of the window he had found Sherlock, deep in meditation.

_It worked! He listened. He is practicing. Now, nothing can go wrong. Now it is up to Totality. My job is done._

He laughed in pure delight as he sipped his tea.

 

                                                                                ***

“Haridas,” Sherlock’s voice boomed as he ran down the stairs, two at a time, “Haridas!”

As he swerved into the kitchen, Haridas hurriedly stood up. “What is it, Sherlock?”

“Where’s Kesh?”

“He went for a meeting with the school board. The school is almost complete and they wanted to take him for a tour. He should be back in 3-4 hours.”

Sherlock scowled. “Well, that can’t be helped. Can I use the phone in my room to make a couple of calls?”

“Sherlock, this house is yours, everything here is yours. How can you ask _me_ for permission?” said Haridas smiling, as he peered at Sherlock’s happy face, with hope in his eyes.

 

                                                                                ***

 

It was past lunch time. Fresh after a shower, Sherlock lay on his bed, idly playing with the phone, as he thought.

_Mycroft or John? Whom should I ring first?_

He tapped the phone on his chin as he mulled.

 

                                                                                ***

Hurried clicking of high heels echoed in the long corridor as Anthea broke into an uncharacteristic trot on the way to Mycroft’s conference room.

Deep in conversation with the Belgium ambassador and his aide, Mycroft looked up, displeased at the interruption.

“What is it?”

“Sir, there is a phone call for you.”

“Take a message. I told you expressly that I do not wish to be disturbed.”

“But Sir, it is _the_ phone call you have been waiting for.”

Mycroft looked at Anthea closely and gave a curt nod, He excused himself, “Pardon me, gentlemen. I do need to take this call. It is a matter of great importance.” He followed Anthea out of the room, a hopeful joy bursting inside of him. _At last......_

He stood looking out of the windows in the corridor outside the meeting hall, clutching the phone. Anthea left him alone. Finally, he took a deep breath.

“Sherlock…..” 

“Mycroft….” the deep familiar baritone rumbled, Mycroft marveled at the wave of relief and joy that swept through him. 

Both brothers were silent for a few moments, reading each other’s thoughts effortlessly as always.

“How have you been, Sherlock?”

“Three, Mycroft? That seems a bit excessive!”

“Well, I needed to make sure….I had to be certain that you were alright. Did you spot all the operatives?” Mycroft chuckled.

“Within minutes, Mycroft! They have been faithfully tailing me, and for once I have nothing to hide” Sherlock said, voice indulgent. “Well, if it gives you some peace of mind, so be it.”

Another period of silence followed as both men gathered their thoughts.

“How are you?”

Sherlock’s voice was warm, “Good, Mycroft. I have been really……good. Its been fantastic. Just what I needed.”

“I am pleased. That is good to hear,” Mycroft’s smile stretched even further. “How is Kesh?”

“Kesh is….he is…quite extraordinary, Mycroft. Even more so than I had remembered. He saved me. He saved me again……He’s an extraordinary man.”

“And how are the _both_ of you?” Mycroft asked after a pause, his tone meaningful.

“We are good, Mycroft. Really good together……” After another long pause, Sherlock said in a quiet tone, “Mycroft, he loves me. Passionately. Unconditionally. Unreservedly……I have …..I have never seen anything like it. I find it hard to believe that I am capable of arousing such an emotion in anyone…… We have become quite….intimate.”

Much to his surprise, Mycroft found himself tearing up, he struggled to keep his voice even, “That’s good. That’s good, isn’t it?” He wanted to punch the air with a fist like a teenager, he grinned as he stared blankly out of the window.

“I have decided to return. In about a week. I will get Kesh to make the arrangements.”

“And Kesh. Is he coming with you?”

There was a long pause. Mycroft frowned.

Eventually, Sherlock said, “I have no doubt that if I were to ask him, he would follow me anywhere.”

“But?”

“It doesn’t feel right. Not quite right now. I care about him deeply. He is…..quite extraordinary. His love for me is breathtaking, it is deep and unconditional. But, unless I am able to reciprocate his feelings with the same intensity, how can I ask him to leave his country, his home, his life? It would be wrong. It would be taking advantage. I need to feel certain about my ability to commit, to reciprocate.”

“I see,” said Mycroft thoughtfully, his elation beginning to deflate. “Well, we can discuss further upon your return.”

“I’ll text you the details as soon as the flights are booked." Mycroft could feel the smile in his words. "It will be good to be back, Mycroft.”

“Mum and dad will be pleased. Does John know?”

“No, I will call him shortly. How is he? How is Mrs Hudson?”

“She is fine. Couple of doctor’s appointments with her arthritis. But it has been quiet at her end. Nothing much to report on John either. Rosa is growing well. He is either at work or at home. Not much socializing. Has had a couple of evenings with Lestrade.”

“I’ll call him now, Mycroft. And let you know the details of the flights soon.”

“Give my deepest regards to Kesh…..I hope you know what you are doing, baby brother. It is not often that one gets to have the complete devotion of an ‘extraordinary man’.”

“It will work out, Mycroft. I _know_ it will.”

 

                                                                                ***

 

“John, can you get that? I have my hands full here," Mary called out from the kitchen, hands deep in the pasta mix as she kneaded. “JOHN…”

“Yeah, hang on a minute,” John replied irritably, as he quickly finished putting on the diaper and tenderly snuggled Rosa to his chest as he walked into the kitchen.

“Hello?”

One hand cradling her wriggling body, he picked up the phone and frowned at an unfamiliar number.

"Hello?"

“John….” Sherlock’s voice sounded warm.

John blinked in delighted surprise, his voice breathless with joy ,“Sherlock…..my God, is that you? Sherlock, for the love of God….” He grinned as he tried to adjust Rosa in his arms.

John could practically see the eyeroll as Sherlock sighed “Yes, John, it is I. “

“Gosh, Sherlock....Where the hell have you been? How could you leave without a word! I’ve been….worried….thinking of you, you know?”

Mary walked out of the kitchen, wiping her hands, a questioning look in her eyes as she took Rosa from John’s arms. “It’s Sherlock,” John whispered with excitement, pointing to the phone.

“Say hello to Mary from me, John. And how is Rosa?”

“Yeah, good....she’s good. Big girl now and growing bigger.”

“That is good to know. I received your letter yesterday.”

“Yesterday! I must have sent it three weeks ago!”

“Well, it _is_ India. It was sent to another town called Devprayag instead, but made its way here eventually.”

“So how’s India? I didn’t know you had any friends there!”

“Well I do. And yes, it has been good. I called to tell you that I should be back in London in a week to ten days maximum.... And of course to tell you that I did receive your letter, and to ask about Mary and Rosa.”

“Yeah well, it’s good…..good to hear your voice…. And very good to hear that you are coming back. Lestrade is at his wit’s end. And I have……missed going on cases you know? It’s just been just the clinic and Rosa…” John laughed selfconsciously.

“I know, John. Everything will be back to normal soon, I hope.” He hung up.

Tired from a long day that had started before dawn, Sherlock slept waiting for Kesh’s return.

 

                                                                                                ***

The sun was setting in the horizon when Sherlock entered the terrace outside Kesh’s room.

Kesh sat on the divan working on his laptop. He promptly put aside at Sherlock’s arrival. Keen eyes took in Sherlock's exuberance, his well rested peaceful face. A smile broke out on Kesh’s face.

Sherlock walked up to Kesh and dropped down on his knees, looking up at him, his smile wide. “I did it, Kesh. I did it.”

“I know.”

“It was magnificent. I know I am still just at the fringes but the sheer happiness….no…..as you said, it is bliss. I want to keep practicing until I reach it.”

Kesh chuckled. He leaned forwards and ruffled Sherlock’s hair with one hand affectionately, “I know.”

Sherlock cupped Kesh's face with his hands. His voice was gentle as he murmured, “I have decided, Kesh.”

Kesh nodded, his expression accepting, “I know, Sherlock. When do you leave?”

“I would like to go in a week if I could. I know I am not completely ready yet, but I _know_ I will be. Can you have Uddhav book the tickets for me?”

“ _Evam Astu_ …..”Kesh whispered softly.

Sherlock touched his forehead to Kesh’s, his breath mixing with Kesh's. “What does that mean, Kesh?”

“It is Sanskrit for ‘So be it’.... "

A silence followed, as Sherlock gazed intently at Kesh, biting his lips as he tried to pick his words carefully.

Voice still gentle, he said, “I know, Kesh…. I _know_ you want to come with me. I _know_ you are waiting for me to ask you to come with me….”

Kesh took a deep breath and leaned back. He sat quietly, his head hanging down, his hands clasped over his lap. Sherlock raised his chin up, “Kesh, you are very important to me. I care about you very deeply……I have thought about it……about you coming with me…living in 221B….I have imagined introducing you to everyone I know, showing you my London…..but not right now, not yet. I need to be _sure_. Anything else will be less than fair to you. I need time….will you give me time?”

Kesh looked up, “I will always wait for you, Sherlock.”

Sherlock stared at him for a long while. A look of diffidence flashed across his face, “Are you still mine, Kesh?”

“I am and will always be yours, Sherlock.”

Sherlock leaned closer, his lips grazing Kesh's lightly, ”Good. Because, I really need to have you tonight.” Kesh smiled.

Both looked up, as Haridas called for dinner.

“Tonight,” Sherlock promised as he pulled Kesh up.

 

                                                                                ***

“Gently, Kesh. Do you need more lube?” Sherlock murmured, as both men looked down and watched Kesh slowly lowering himself on Sherlock, his long, thick hardness inching into Kesh. Sherlock petted his trembling thighs in gentle, soothing circles, watching in breathless pleasure, struggling not to thrust in as the warmth and tightness of Kesh’s core engulfed him. His eyes moved ravenously between the sight of his length disappearing into Kesh's entrance and Kesh's awestruck face.

Kesh shook his head, gasping, “Sherlock.... so full. I feel so full…..Sherlock, please.”

“Shhh… almost there. Doing so well, Kesh,” as with a final push Kesh accepted him fully. He stared at Sherlock wide eyed with wonder.

“Come here…don’t move yet…. Come here…..you feel so tight, Kesh. Made for me. Mine…..my Kesh….come here....” Sherlock groaned as he gathered Kesh close and claimed his mouth. Soft lips parted Kesh's, a demanding expert tongue took a leisurely tour of his mouth.

When he let him go, Kesh buried his face into the crook of Sherlock’s neck, “I thought I would never have this again, Sherlock. I thought I would never feel your arms around me again.”

Sherlock nuzzled him gently, breathing in the sandalwood scent, tangling his hand into Kesh’s curls as he pulled his face up. He looked solemn as he said quietly, “Kesh, I don’t think I could ever have sex with anyone else ever again. You have completely ruined me for anyone else.” He brought Kesh’s face closer, kissing him tenderly. “Who could ever look at me with so much love? How could I ever have sex and not want to see this overwhelming love that spills over, unable to be contained inside the body?”

“I love you, Sherlock….I love you so much,” whispered Kesh.

Sherlock rubbed their noses together, “I know, Kesh. God help me, I know…..soon….give me some time, to be sure….you know, I’ve fantasized about having you on every surface of 221B…..soon, my Kesh…” He pulled Kesh’s hips up as he started slowly moving himself. His grip firm on Kesh's ass, he rocked in and out slowly, taking his cock almost completely out before plunging in with sure long strokes, lips busy with nuzzling and biting Kesh’s neck and shoulder, enjoying Kesh’s helpless pleas. After several strokes, he placed his hips firmly on the bed and pushed Kesh upright.

“Move, Kesh. Ride me. I want to watch you lose control……” he murmured, voice husky and deep, as he curled a palm around Kesh’s cock and stroked with leisurely strokes. Kesh raised and lowered himself, eyes wide with pleasure as he found the right angle such that with each stroke, Sherlock’s cock head nudged and caressed his prostate.

Sherlock watched and relished the tight clenching, the sweat dripping from Kesh’s forehead, the hardness of his cock in his hands which twitched and jerked with need. He raised his other hand to rub and pinch Kesh’s nipples, smiling wickedly at the broken litany of “Please, Sherlock…..please, feels so good, feel so full…..never want this to stop….. love you……love you.”

He caressed and petted Kesh’s arms, his thighs as he worked hard, moving, gasping, moaning. He tugged at the heated shaft in his hands in tandem with each thrust, enjoying the exquisite friction and warmth as he took his pleasure in the core of Kesh, humming his pleasure, shushing Kesh’s desperate pleas.

When Kesh’s thighs started trembling uncontrollably with effort, he pulled him closer and lifted him roughly. Holding both cheeks, spreading them with his hands, he spread his own legs further and planted both feet on the bed firmly as he started to thrust up. His cock plunged in and out, slamming in with increasingly powerful thrusts, as he grunted with effort. The room filled with the sounds of grunting and begging and flesh slapping against flesh as his thighs slammed against Kesh’s buttocks with every plunge.

“Take yourself in hand, Kesh,” he gasped breathlessly as he continued to pound into him with ferocity, eyes gone dark with lust and staring at Kesh’s wide pupils and desperate sounds.

“Please, Sherlock….need to come….. too much…..Oh God…feels so good….yes, yes, Sherlock… please help me….” Kesh’s sobs intensified until he spurted forth with loud cry , hot strings of his come mixed with the sweat on Sherlock’s chest and belly. Sherlock hooked his hands over Kesh’s shoulders, fingers digging in as he pushed down, sinking Kesh’s clenched entrance further over his shaft as his cock swelled and twitched and with a loud gasp and widened eyes, he came. He pulsed on and on inside Kesh, bathing his insides with his release as he rode the crest of his orgasm.

Chests held close as they both panted in the joy of their exertion and their climax, they both gave way to delighted laughs mixed with rough exhalations, kissing, rubbing, caressing. Stroking back Kesh’s damp hair, Sherlock mumbled, “And that, my Kesh, _that_ is what a good, hard shag feels like." His other hand stroked Kesh’s back gently, as they both calmed down.  

After a while, Kesh sat up and cleaned Sherlock with a t-shirt. As he tried to get off, Sherlock stopped him and said quietly, “Stay a while, Kesh. Want to be inside you for a while longer.”

Kesh rested on Sherlock’s chest, content with feeling those beautiful fingers running over his back, his neck, his hair and listening to the strong heartbeat under him. _I wish I could stay like this forever, never move. How am I going to live without him?_

He lifted himself eventually and braced himself on his forearms as he asked, “Sherlock, can I ask you for something?”

Sherlock smiled tenderly, “Kesh, my Kesh….I am post coital right now. I have emptied myself completely inside you.” He dipped his fingers into the moistness leaking out of Kesh’s entrance, around his softening cock and held it up, “You are dripping with my come. Right now, I cannot think of anything that you would ask of me and I would decline." He took in the serious expression on Kesh’s face.

He said quietly, “Ask, Kesh.”

Kesh took a deep breath, “Before you leave, can I take you for one last trip. It will be for about two days only. There will be climbing. It is to a place that is very special to my heart……I do not understand it, but something tells me very strongly that I must take you there. I don’t know when or if you will come back to India, once you leave……Please, Sherlock?”

“Is that all? Of course I will come with you,” said Sherlock, gently stroking Kesh’s sweat damp hair back from his forehead, “Anywhere at all. And the climbing does not bother me.”

Kesh straightened with a smile. “Then I better go down and make the arrangements. I will also call Uddhav and ask him to book your flight.”

 

                                                                                ***

 

It was almost an hour later that Kesh slipped into the bedroom again. The bedside lamp was still on, but Sherlock appeared to be dozing. He got into bed quietly, looking at Sherlock’s face, marveling again at the beauty, the wonder of having this man beside him.

Sherlock opened his eyes dreamily and smiled.

Kesh's voice was hushed. “Every time you open your eyes, it seems to me that a curtain has gone up to reveal the most beautiful painting in the world. How are your eyes so beautiful? How do they manage to project the brilliance behind them so well?”

Running a gentle finger over Kesh’s cheekbones, Sherlock replied lazily, “You’re biased, Kesh.”

Kesh smiled, “Maybe….Sherlock, I called Uddhav. He will arrange for your flight first thing in the morning.”

“He must not be pleased,” said Sherlock softly. “He will find it a betrayal.”

“I’ll talk him around, don’t worry. He is a good man….I’ve also made the arrangements for tomorrow. We leave at four in the morning. Vedant, Partha and Haridas want to come as well. I hope you don’t mind?”

Sherlock pulled Kesh close and got him to roll over, so he could spoon him from behind. Arms around Kesh, he replied, “Why should I mind? As long as you are with me, I don’t care.”

He yawned loudly and slid his hand down to Kesh’s ass, touching his pajama clad cleft gently, “Sore?”

Kesh shook his head, “A bit. But it feels good….it felt so good, Sherlock,” as he raised Sherlock’s hand and softly kissed it.

Sherlock buried his face into Kesh’s neck, “I know, Kesh. So good…...Early start tomorrow….sleep, my Kesh.”

 

 

                                                                                                To be continued……..


	15. Kaalosmi- I am death...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I believe that those few who have read this far into this story are undoubtedly mature, adult readers. It seems a bit silly to post “triggers” and “warnings”. But still, be warned, read the chapter title, don't read if you are squirmish about death.....Proceed with caution….
> 
>  
> 
> \------------------------------------------------------

They did manage to leave at four in the morning.

It was 7.30 am when the car finally stopped, after a harrowing three and half hour drive through treacherous narrow roads, broken in places due to streams and rains, through road blocks, some traffic jams. Despite Vedant’s expert driving and sheer pigheadedness as the large SUV ploughed through, it had still taken a considerably longer time than the anticipated two hours. It had been drizzling lightly when they began their journey; now the rain was getting heavier.

_Sherlock sat next to Vedant. Kesh, Partha and Haridas were in the back seats. Vedant had talked almost non-stop, making both Kesh and Sherlock smile. “Sherlock Sir, the last time I went to Kedarnath, it was in the summer. So green on the ground, so beautiful, surrounded by the snow covered Himalayas. It is a very beautiful place, Sherlock Sir. And the temple is lovely. I did not think I would get a chance to go again. The moment Hrishikesh bhaiyya said, he is taking you, I immediately said I want to come as well. It is very high in the Himalayas. We will have to walk 14 kms from Gaurikund. It will take at least 6 hours. I hope you are fit and able to do it.” A stoic, quiet Partha rolled his eyes, as Haridas grinned._

They put on their raincoats as they got out of the car.

“This is Gaurikund, Sherlock,” said Kesh, undaunted by the rain, as he gestured to the small town they had landed in. Even this early, it was buzzing with pilgrims as they ate breakfast, bought walking sticks and flimsy plastic raincoats, determined to reach the Kedarnath valley and get darshan (an auspicious sighting) of one of the four main pilgrimage sites of the area. “I love coming to Kedarnath, Sherlock. It is the most beautiful, most spiritual place in the world to me. The sense of absolute peace and beauty here must be experienced.”

Pointing to the crowds, Kesh continued,“All these people are on an itinerary. I told you, religious tourism is big in India, and this is the season to see Lord Kedarnath. You see, the valley lies 11500 feet above sea level, so it is closed for 6 months of the year due to snow. Take away another 2-3 months of rain and we are left with a small period only,” Kesh explained as they walked slowly to the main launching area for the fourteen kilometre trek. Vedant, Partha and Haridas followed slowly behind, both Vedant and Partha carrying the small bags with clothes and other belongings.

Kesh’s phone rang and he answered it. “It is Uddhav, Sherlock. He has managed to book your flight eight days from now. I hope that is okay?

 “That’s fine,”Sherlock  replied absently, as he looked around fascinated and said in wonder, “This is a _lot_ of people, Kesh.”

“It is, isn’t it? It is estimated that around 20,000-40,000 people go up and down this trek every day, during the pilgrimage season.”

They halted at a busy section on a bridge, with scores of people everywhere. Men leading mules yelled out the price for a ride on mule back up and down to Lord Kedarnath. Several men, with cane carriages on their back, waited as the tourist haggled about prices, for a privilege of being carried on the back of another human. Palanquins lay scattered around, able to be carried by four men, asking the highest price of all.

While some haggled with prices, other devotees, mostly poorer folk, just took to walking up the slippery, stone paved path, with a look of both determination and devotion, as they passed the first sign which stated, “ **Kedarnath-14 km ahead** ”

Vedant haggled with a pitthuwala (who carried passengers on his back in a cane seat) to his satisfaction, before assisting the frail Haridas onto the back with Partha’s help. Haridas did namaste to Kesh, before the pitthuwala took off at full speed.

“Sherlock Sir, these pitthuwala’s make this trek, up-and-back, three to four times a day, to earn maximum money. I am not sure how they do it. But they have to earn enough in these four months to last them the whole year or their families will starve,” explained Vedant, who looked chuffed to be there, to be able to pass on these little tit-bits of information. “I can’t wait to see the Lord, it has been so many years since I came here,” he said as they all took off for the grueling journey.

Helicopters sounded overhead, as they walked. Kesh explained, “Most of the rich and middle class people now take a chopper ride to Kedarnath valley. Do darshan, hang around for a bit and leave by evening. No stress, no worries. Although it has been drizzling, I would have thought that would make flying a helicopter dangerous. It is unseasonal, this rain, the monsoons have come early this time,” he added thoughtfully.

Sherlock smiled as he looked at Kesh and asked, “Kesh, you have enough money to buy all the helicopters in the area. Why are you walking?”

Kesh took a deep breath, “Look around you, Sherlock. I wouldn’t want you to miss _this_. And besides, one needs to work hard to meet Divinity. You can’t ask for comfort there too.”

They climbed, dodging the pittuwalas, the palanquins, the mules, as the path rose and rose above them. To their right, the Mandakini river flowed, swollen with the constant drizzling from the night before. The path was slippery and wet, as they took support from each other and other people, saying, “Sorry…sorry” as they walked.

The sun had been playing hide and seek, the rain increasing steadily as they climbed.

 

  

                                                                                ***

It was around noon that Sherlock and Kesh raised a cup of hot chai tea to each other and ate pakoras resting on a ragged wooden stool, as they watched the rain dripping down, next to a sign that said, “ **Rambara. Kedarnath-7 kms ahead**.” The hamlet of about 5000 people was buzzing with tourists and pilgrims taking a rest in the long trek. Horses and mules neighed, boys and girls walked around selling hot chai, cold drinks, packets of chips, maggi noodles, temple icons.

Sherlock pointed at a trio of pilgrims. An elderly couple was walking uphill painstakingly. The old thin woman was bent at the waist by her aged spine like a question mark, holding a walking stick in her frail trembling hands. The old man seemed to be visually impaired, as a younger woman in her thirties held his hand, leading him carefully. Their clothes were washed out and tattered, there was no footwear on their feet. The younger woman was continuously chanting aloud, “Om Namah Shivaya,” as she walked. Strangely moved by the sight, Sherlock asked Kesh, “Can’t we get one of the palanquins or pitthuwalas for them?”

Kesh smiled gently, “Sherlock, they would not accept it. It is a pilgrimage of a lifetime, you see. Everyone has their own unique way of approaching the Lord.”

Sherlock held his hot cup with one hand, even as he waved around his other hand still holding a hot pakora, chewing as he talked, “So tell me. Who is Lord Kedarnath?”

“He is Lord Shiva,” replied Kesh.

“Why do you Indians have so many Gods? Every few metres there seems to be a temple. All to different Gods, all holding weapons,” remarked Sherlock.

Kesh threw his head back and laughed.

“We do not have many Gods, Sherlock. But the concept of Oneness is difficult to understand and the idea of praying to a nameless faceless God, is beyond most people. It is the rare person whose spiritual inner eye is open and who is able to parse the concept of Oneness.The ancients reasoned that it is human nature to want things. So they created a God for every desire. The idea was that once that desire was granted, it forged a greater bond between God and man, and this went on, till the faith reached a critical tipping point. The point where one stopped asking for things of the world, and had evolved into asking for knowledge, for faith, for God himself.”

“So when you want wealth, you go to Goddess Laxmi, when you want knowledge, you go to Goddess Saraswati, when you want strength, you go to Lord Hanuman and so on.”

“What about that elephant God, Ganesha?” asked Sherlock, intrigued.

“Well Lord Ganesha is actually Lord Shiva’s son. One goes to him to ask for removal of obstacles. Initially maybe to ask  for removal of obstacles to job promotion or daughter getting married, or a sickness and other such worldly things. But eventually, when wisdom starts dawning--- to ask for removal of obstacles to Self Knowledge.”

“And Lord Shiva, what does one ask of him?”

“Lord Shiva has two moods or two forms. As _Rudra_ , he is the ferocious one, the destroyer, constantly dancing his Dance of Death and Destruction, since the beginning of creation, so that the old can give way to the new, so that life evolves and continues. If you have the _courage_ to dance with him, he will destroy your ignorance. As _Shiva_ , he is the auspicious, gentle one, the one who grants the ultimate of graces…… _Moksha_ , freedom from ignorance, freedom from everything that binds you to this world and takes you away from the truth.”

 

 

                                                                                ***

 

It was still raining heavily when Sherlock spooned Kesh from behind in bed on the first floor of their hotel room.

_Earlier, they had gone to see the temple._

_Sherlock had marveled at the beautiful architecture of the 5000 year old temple, as he ran his fingers over the rock structure, “Kesh, these walls must be at least three feet thick,” he said._

_“That’s right, Sherlock. Three feet thick stone only and dry- arranged in a particular formation. No cement or mortar holding it together. It has stood the test of time for 5000 years!”_

_There were two small cave- like rooms inside, one was a room where devotees waited to gain entrance to the main shrine, lined with stone statues on the wall. The other had the main Shiv linga (the form of Shiva). Sherlock stood respectfully, arms behind his back, as Kesh, Haridas, Vedant and Partha offered prayers and oblations._

_Later they had stood outside on the high platform on which the temple stood, and looked around. Huge mountains lay behind the mandir. The narrow valley was entirely surrounded by tall Himalayan peaks, obscured by cloud cover._

Now, in bed, fully clothed, both men shivered with cold, listening to the torrent of rain outside. “I’d give anything to get warm. Why can’t they have electric heaters in here? It’s so cold.” he complained as he buried his cold nose into Kesh’s neck. “I don’t even have the courage to lower my trousers and slide inside you, Kesh and create some body heat,” Sherlock exclaimed through chattering teeth.

Kesh laughed, as he poked his elbow backwards into Sherlock, “Shh, Sherlock. Don’t talk like that. This is a holy place,” he chided.

He continued after a pause, “I can’t explain it….but something inside me seemed to be urging me to bring you here….I had hoped to show you so many places here. There is a cave formation up the mountains that is excellent for meditation. Also, there is a lake, called Chaurabari Lake, formed at the base of the receding glacier, high up on the mountain behind the temple. It is beautiful, the water is so pure, untouched.”

Sherlock shrugged, “ Who would have thought it would be raining this much? Let’s get some sleep now. Every muscle in my body hurts, and this bloody cold is not helping.”

Kesh smiled.

The rain fell, with increasing intensity through the night as they fell into a broken sleep.

 

 

 

 

                                                                                ***

 

The next day, despite the rains, the market and temple complex was busy as ever. Hundreds of pilgrims queued outside to have a sighting of the Lord. Small shops scattered all around sold various paraphernalia for prayers, for oblations, miniature statues of various Gods, packed small bottles of the holy Mandakini river water. Many stalls sold hot cups of chai tea, hot Maggi noodles and pakoras. Fakirs and sadhus sat gloriously naked or only wearing a loin cloth, chanting and enticing tourists to pay them money. Raincoats and umbrellas abounded. Brisk trading of prime spots for “premium darshan” was going on- meaning to pay some money to be sneaked past the long line of pilgrims, see Lord Shiva and get out of there.

Standing on the common balcony of their hotel into which six of the hotel rooms opened, Sherlock and Kesh watched the show. Kesh talked to some men, gathered on the ground outside of the only post office in town. They yelled out to each other, about the unrelenting rain, and that pilgrims were finding it difficult to walk up the trek on this day. Many mobile lines were non functional. Kesh frowned as he looked up at the mountains behind the temple.

“It has been raining for twenty four hours now, Sherlock,” he said, “Up there in the mountains are two glaciers. They have receded a lot in recent times due to global warming. One is the source for the river Mandakini, which is to the right of this town, the other for the much smaller river Saraswati to the left. Wonder what all the rain is doing to them?” He looked at the heavens, at the steady sheet of rain, at the dense cloud cover thoughtfully.

He put on a determined smile as he said to Sherlock, “Let’s go and have a look at the river Mandakini. These people were just saying they have never seen her this flooded previously.”

They made their way through narrow lanes, amid assorted hotels and houses and stalls, towards the river. And stared in awe at the swollen, crazed river flow from the safety of their vantage point.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” said Sherlock with wonder in his voice.

Kesh agreed, “No one has.”

 

                                                                                ***

Haridas sat on the ground floor room of the hotel, wrapped in blankets trying to get warm, sipping a hot cup of tea in his hands as he shivered. The rain fell in torrents outside, windows rattling with the sound. He wished Hrishikesh and Sherlock were with him. He prayed to the Lord, for relief.

 

                                                                                ***

 

Sherlock, Kesh, Vedant and Partha stood, along with hundreds of others, watching in fascination at the swollen river, roaring past them.

“No one’s mobile phone is working,” yelled Partha above the din.

“The helicopters haven’t been working all day either. Everyone who had booked to go back today is stranded here,” added Vedant.

Sherlock looked around at the dense dark blue-gray cloud cover which had extended down half the mountains. The snow covered peaks were hidden today. The sounds of thunder echoed through the narrow valley.

Suddenly, a ear splitting, thunderous sound echoed through the valley, seeming to come from top of the mountain behind the Kedar dome. Everyone looked up, even as cries rang out, “Cloud burst….cloud burst,” as en masse the entire populace raced away from the river and tried to find higher ground.

“Vedant, Partha, run……get Haridas to the first floor, warn everyone to get higher, “ yelled Kesh, even as he grabbed Sherlock’s hand and ran inwards.

Trying to dodge the hundreds of running people, Sherlock panted out, “What’s a cloudburst?”

“Two low pressure systems colliding at the top of a mountain which creates sudden and very heavy dumping of hundreds of thousands of gallons of water all at once,” yelled Kesh, as the pair made a beeline for their hotel.

Even as they turned to look, a mammoth amount of water was gushing down the mountainside, aided by channels created by the receding glaciers, over the centuries. It was as if the floodgates of hell had opened.  The waters joined the already raging Mandakini river on one side and Saraswati on the other, as the deluge raced downwards.

Reaching the first floor of the hotel they were just in time, to see some riverside houses collapse, crumbling like a pack of cards, carrying whoever was inside with them into the rivers. Haridas had been relocated to the first floor, and clutched Kesh’s hand as he watched.

From their vantage point on the balcony they could see the main temple. The temple and its platform were the highest points in the whole of Kedar, and were now completely blanketed by a mass of humanity.

Vedant rushed into the balcony, panting as he brought news, “People are refusing to come out of the temple. There are some dead people inside, suffocated, because of overcrowding and a stampede  and lack of air. But the people trapped inside are too scared to lose their spot in the only place they feel safe.”

Partha added, “The power lines are mostly gone. It is going to be a dark night. And cold.” A shiver could be heard in his voice.

Sherlock and Kesh looked around at the mayhem, and assessed the situation.

“Vedant, Partha go and look for food, scrounge around, pay whatever you have to. Bring people here into this lodge, at least they will be sheltered for the night. Tell the manager we will pay all the expenses.”

Sherlock added, “And grab whatever is dry and warm. Look out for any candles, matchboxes, oil, oil lamps. Kesh and I will go down and see if we can persuade people to come in.”

 

                                                                                ***

The six rooms on the first floor of Sherlock’s hotel were full of people. Some sitting on the beds, some on the floors, strangers huddling together, listening to the fear inducing sounds of the incessant heavy downpour and the river rapids. It was mostly dark, with the exception of some oil lamps, usually used in prayers. Everyone refused to be on the ground floor, as the waters had risen up to knee height on the ground.

At least two children were wailing as they had become separated from their parents. It was unknown if they were alive or had been swept away. Food was in very short supply, as the unprecedented increased population of Kedarnath ate the basic rations, and many tried to hoard food, unsure of when they would be able to get out of there.

Sherlock and Kesh were moving from room to room, trying to ensure safety, reassuring people, and making sure everyone had eaten something. After one more round, they stood together on the common balcony.

The darkness was profound. Sherlock slipped his arm around Kesh’s waist and held him, as they looked out. They heard Vedant and Partha come up the stairs and turned to face them.

Barely able to see each other’s faces, they listened, as Partha said, “The bridge that connects the walking trail by which we came up to Kedarnath town has been washed away. Now we are an island, with no connection to the world.”

Sherlock said, “Surely it is only a matter till the morning! They would send rescue teams, surely.”

Kesh gave a wry laugh as he asked, “How? How, Sherlock? It is impossible to fly helicopters in this weather. Nothing can happen till the rains cease.”

Vedant chimed in, “Sherlock sir, this is India. No one will even know what is happening up here. Even if by some miracle someone is able to make phone contact, it will take ages for them to organize anything.”

“So we are here, for the foreseeable future, cold, wet, soon to run out of food and morale?” Sherlock summed up the grim situation.

Kesh said softly, “Let us wait till morning. Sometimes daybreak can make things clearer in more ways than one. “

 

                                                                                ***

 

“Sir, there is some disturbing news that you need to know,” whispered Anthea into Mycroft’s ear.

He was sitting with the Minister of Finance along with other bureaucrats as they discussed the upcoming budget. An interruption with those words from a usually unflappable Anthea were so unprecedented, that Mycroft rose even before he formulated a response. He just remembered to turn to the Minister at the last moment to murmur, “Excuse me,” before he walked to the other end of the room with Anthea, face frowning with concern.

Anthea whispered, “Sir, we have gotten calls from all our operatives in India. Something is not quite right. The Ganges is in full spate and flooding everything in its path. But disturbingly, there are reports of several dead bodies of humans and animals along with broken houses flowing from the Mandakini river which starts at Kedarnath. All communications are down. We do not know what is going on up in those mountains.”

The Minister was watching intently, and hence did not miss a most unusual sight, Mycroft Holmes turning pale and looking worried.

Mycroft hissed, “Kedarnath…..isn’t that where Sherlock and Kesh are?”

“Yes Sir,” said Anthea. “I’ve gotten in touch with the Foreign Office. They have  been in touch with their counterparts in India and with the Ministry of External Affairs. Their meteorological office thinks there might have been a cloud burst that triggered the sudden heavy flooding. No one knows much, but they are looking into it.”

“They are looking into it..”repeated Mycroft mechanically, even as his brain raced to compute the possibilities.

After several seconds, he spoke, “Anthea, how much do you trust those operatives?”

“Well, Sir, they are good for routine work. They can only gather information locally, however.The locals are very worried with the numbers of dead bodies. One of the collapsed buildings that has travelled down, though only a part arrived intact, was identified by a local as belonging to a hotel in Kedarnath.”

A deep dread settled into Mycroft as he considered his immediate commitments, as well as Sherlock’s whereabouts and safety.

“I need to go there. I need to make sure he is safe. I…..Anthea, I _need_ to make sure he is safe. Get me the next flight to India.”

“Already done, Sir. Your flight leaves in half an hour, but they will hold it for you. Sir, your bags are packed in the car.”

Mycroft returned to the men seated at the conference table. Without preamble he said, “Please excuse me, gentlemen. I need to go. Anthea will explain,” said Mycroft as he dashed out, a sense of foreboding in his gut. To Sherlock, to his baby brother.

 

                                                                                ***

 

At half five the next morning, it was still raining heavily. Everyone had had a restless night. Like the people secluded in the lodge, many others had taken shelter in other places that seemed stable. The temple complex was still full of people, refusing to leave.

_Sherlock and Kesh had spent the night huddled together, sharing a blanket as their bright minds raced through the options. They had spoken in low whispers, trying to work out some sort of strategy._

_Finally they had decided that come daybreak, it would be reasonable to go past the only bridge connecting the town to the mountains and trek a bit to find a higher vantage point and view the options available to them._

_Having decided this, they slept fitfully,  supporting each other and sharing body warmth._

“Vedant, Partha, come with us. We are going to climb up the slope of that mountain to take a view from a higher vantage point,” Sherlock instructed at six in the morning.

“Haridas, wait here for us, we will be back soon,” Kesh said, giving a hug to the old man.

“Please be careful, Hrishikesh,” said Haridas, as he clutched Kesh’s hand. He turned to Sherlock and said, “Take care of my Hrishikesh, Sherlock.”

A grave Sherlock, responded with unusual emotion, “He is mine too, Haridas. I will look after him, don’t worry.”

 

                                                                                ***

 

The four men stood, at the slippery slope of the mountain and gazed awestruck at the devastation. It seemed at least one third of the town was gone. Hundreds of people were moving around dazed and confused. Some were weeping and wailing. Their cries of distress competed with the majestic roar of the rivers.

There were other people on the slopes with a similar idea as Kesh and Sherlock, and had climbed up to see the devastation. . Some people had spent the night in the mountainside, unwilling to go to a lower level. Some had become stranded, as continuous small landslides blocked their path.

Sherlock scanned as his lighting-fast mind computed the river level, the rainfall, the area he could see, the mathematical probablilities, but even it could not keep up with the might of Nature.

“It has become an island almost, two rivers on two sides and the bridge to the trek gone.”

“Maybe we could…..” began Sherlock as his voice was interrupted by a booming crack ringing out, louder than any sound anyone had ever heard, sending its echoes up and down the valley. The earth shuddered and vibrated below their feet. It was as if the sky was torn asunder, as all four pairs of eyes stared at the mountain behind the Kedar Dome.

Death was dancing its way down the mountain, at a very fast speed.

A huge wall of water, perhaps a 100 feet tall, made its way down at the speed of an average car, carrying with it all the boulders of the glacier moraine. The earth literally shook at the impact of the gigantic watery bulldozer ploughing down the mountain.

“O Rudra,” cried Kesh, as he looked, hand instinctively wrapping itself around Sherlock’s

Hearing the tremendous wall of water proceeding at a break-neck pace towards the temple town, everyone had stopped in their path to watch it, unable to move. Then people screamed as they ran,helter-skelter, trying to escape  with nowhere to go.

The water was tossing boulders the size of houses in the air as if it were a speeding explosion.

Within seconds, it hit Kedarnath.

It went about flattening everything in its path. People were crushed under the boulders or carried away by the freak wall of water. Animals were not spared--mules, horses, dogs, cows-- were swept downstream in the ferocious flow. The sky resounded with screams of men, women and children, who tried to grasp anything, hands frantically trying to grab _something_ , poles, edges of houses, fallen wires. Hundreds of mouths twisted in permanent screams as they realized the futility of their situation.

People were falling into the raging river like pebbles. Heads bobbed, as they pleaded, “Help….someone help me.” Houses either fell like so many toys, or were inundated with silt, gravel , pebbles and stones, burying everyone alive.

As a group, Sherlock, Kesh and the other men raced down from the mountain slope towards the town, instinctively knowing that everyone was beyond help but wanting to reach out and save _someone_. The wall of water had come and gone within less than five minutes but the town was destroyed, and for a while it seemed, all the people were dead.

They ran to the bridge from where they had climbed up the slopes. Some people were still clinging on to life, holding to bits of the bridge and broken tree trunks. Kesh lay down as he reached his hands to a child, who turned a terrified face to him, clutching to a tree branch, saying, “Uncle, please help me…..uncle please help me.”

Sherlock ran to the edge, where a woman in her twenties was clinging to one steel pylon with one hand with dear life. He lay down, after anchoring his feet against the edge of the bridge, “Grab my hand, miss. Please grab my hand,” he cried, urgently waving his hand at her.

With superhuman strength the woman swung her hand to reach Sherlock, just as her other hand slipped. She wore the red glass bangles of the newly married, her mehndi (henna) still dark in both hands.  Tethered to life only by Sherlocks’s hand as the ghastly rapids of the river below bobbed her body effortlessly and pulled on her so that she was horizontal. Many dead and struggling bodies swept below her, carried away by the vicious fury of the waters. Her sari had been swept away some time ago, her lower parkar swam up, revealing her body to her underwear.

Her panicked eyes locked with Sherlock’s as she begged brokenly, “Please sir, please don’t let me die….. save me, please bhaiyya…”

Sherlock held on with all his might, his arms felt they would come out of their sockets, as a quick glance to Kesh revealed him struggling to save the six year old small boy. He gritted his teeth as he refused to give up. The rapids were rising as the eddies pulled on the woman’s clothes; her blouse buttons popped under the strain and her breasts were bared to his view. Her eyes were losing courage as she feebly whispered, “Please sir, I don’t want to die…” Within seconds her hand, made slippery by the river silt, slipped and she was swept away in front of Sherlock’s dazed gaze. He watched her body slam into a nearby huge rock;  it almost broke into two, bleeding into the river as it sped away, soundless, for the woman was mercifully already dead.

Rolling onto his back, gasping with rage and frustration, Sherlock roared, an inhuman cry wrenched from his lungs. He opened dejected eyes, to see Kesh looking down at him, arm extended to help him up. Kesh said grimly, “Let’s go, Sherlock. We have to go and see what we can do to help.” They walked into Kedarnath holding the naked, bleeding, shivering boy between them, whom Kesh had hauled back to safety, just a few moments earlier.

 

                                                                                                                                                     ***

 

The two men ran on limbs trembling with strain and exhaustion, holding the boy between them, into the main town. Damaged buildings lay everywhere. The ones not broken had sand and gravel packed to the ceilings. The whole area was strewn with dead bodies many of them half buried in the debris, only the occasional body parts visible, arms, legs and faces locked in a permanent grimace stuck out of the debris.

Twisted metal spikes were everywhere, broken wood pieces, crumbled tin sheets. Feeble cries of help rang out, as a few able bodied people ran around trying to help, trying to extricate barely alive folks from their pebbled graves.

Vedant and Partha worked with grim determination as they tried to pull people who were still alive. All four had Haridas on their minds as they made their way towards their hotel.

“Uncle, please help me,” a frightened small voice called out to Sherlock. A girl of about ten was clinging to the power lines above.

Sherlock looked up, and wedging his feet on rocks on the ground to prevent the slippery silty ground from giving way under his feet, he braced himself as he called out, “Jump, child. I’ll catch you, jump….” After much cajoling, she gathered the courage to jump as Sherlock sprang to catch her. He fell backward with her on top of him, and hugged this unknown child, thankful to have won one small battle against death.

 

                                                                                                ***

A few minutes later, they managed to walk over the unstable, muddy rubble to their hotel. Vedant had taken charge of the two children, trying to find something to cover the boy with. Sherlock reached the hotel  first and he could only stand and stare.  Only the first floor was still visible for everything underneath was buried.

He asked Kesh hoarsely, “How many people are buried under us, Kesh?”

“I don’t know,” said Kesh in a somber tone as they walked with trepidation, the prospect of finding a still alive Haridas growing remote. Both men felt numb after having seen so much devastation and death in a matter of a few minutes only.

As the men searched, it was Sherlock who came across Haridas first.

Frail body buried in the rubble upto his mid chest, he lay there fighting to breathe, his chest caving in with each inspiration as he saw Sherlock walk up towards him. Even as Sherlock knelt beside him saying over and over, “No…..no, Haridas,,,no,” Haridas opened his mouth and a sludgy mix of black earth and silt dripped out. He tried vainly to spit it out, too weak to dislodge the muck, struggling to breathe. As Sherlock reached forward to cradle his head in his lap, Kesh spotted them and ran towards them. Vedant and Partha followed quickly, to help try and extricate Haridas.

The old man’s eyes tracked Kesh the moment he saw him. Kesh knelt in front of him, face somber, as he gently stroked his hair. “Hrishikesh…..”he croaked with effort.

“I’m here, Haridas. I’m here,” mumbled Kesh.

“It is time.”

“Yes, it is,” said Kesh, his voice gentle. “And you are going to die at Kedarnath. What greater blessing can there be?”

With great difficulty, Haridas raised his trembling hands and folded them in front of his chest in _Namaste_ as he answered, voice breaking, “I am dying while looking at you. What greater blessing can there be?......Hrishikesh, you have come…..send me off, Hrishikesh.”

Kesh nodded, “ _Evam astu_ , Haridas.”

He placed his palm at the center of Haridas’s forehead, and closed his eyes for a few seconds and became very still.  A loud vibration seemed to erupt from his very being, as taking a deep inhalation he chanted the mystical mantra, “ _AUM……..AUM……AUM…_.” The vibrations competed successfully with the sounds of the river and the rain and transferred to Haridas’s forehead as he opened his eyes and fixed his piercing gaze on Haridas. Haridas’s face took on a look of serenity and satisfaction as he watched, his soul recognizing a soul deep in Yoga, even as his eyes failed him and closed. He gurgled, bubbles of mud and air frothed around his lips as he breathed his last.

The men stayed silent for a while, tears in their eyes. Eventually Kesh took a deep breath. With tears rolling down his eyes he looked at Sherlock, who stood up, laying Haridas’s head gently on the uneven ground. His eyes were moist, “I’m sorry, Kesh…..Would you like to dig him out?” He came to stand close to Kesh, hand on his shoulder, pressing down in empathy and shared loss.  Kesh shook his head as he stood up as well and looked around, “He is gone. So are thousands of others. What is the point? Let us focus on the living. Let us decide what we must do.”

Nodding, Sherlock grabbed a sheet stuck to an iron pole. Kesh and Sherlock approached Haridas’s body to cover him. Tears were rolling down Kesh's grim face.

Sherlock looked down at the face of the man who had fed him, bathed him, worried about him, who had only ever wanted to see Sherlock happy with his Hrishikesh.  Kesh looked at the man, who had been a father to him since he had been orphaned at eleven years of age. With a grieving heart and tears in their eyes, they covered Haridas with the sheet and arranged a few stones to anchor it in place.

They mutely looked around, numb, as they thought about the next course of action.

 

                                                                                                ***

Kesh, Sherlock, Vedant and Partha walked around Kedarnath. It was no longer a town but a bed of rubble. They came to the temple. The entire huge platform was submerged under silt but the temple still stood. They walked around it, wondering how it still stood, where everything else had fallen. 

A huge boulder the size of a house had lodged itself parallel to the back wall of the temple. It seemed to have split the oncoming water and rubble into two, two clear channels visible on either side of the temple. The boulder had miraculously saved the temple. The 5000 year old stone temple had not suffered any damage apart from a few cracks, and the depositions of silt and sediment inside.

There were people inside who were scrambling out, stupefied. There were dead bodies inside, crushed to death by the mass of humanity.

They looked around mutely.

Kesh's voice was a soft murmur. “We live at all times, at the edge of calamity. It is just a matter of tipping to one side, that’s all. Death and disaster dance around us but we ignore it and carry on with our lives, focusing on petty problems, unmindful and oblivious,” said Kesh thoughtfully.

After a while, they gathered around to strategize their next action.

 

                                                                                ***

 

It was five in the afternoon that the group of about forty people finally reached Rambara. A journey which normally took three hours on the walking track had taken eight hours, as they stumbled, hungry, cold, wet and tired. They sucked on their wet clothes to keep hydrated. The stone trek was intact in some places, completely broken in others, at risk of landslides at any moment so they walked in the mountains and forests, to prevent slipping into the rapids below.

_Earlier, they had a brief discussion of their options at Kedarnath. There was no communications, no power, food was gone, no prospects of dramatic rescues. The rain was continuing, hypothermia was a threat when night fell. The structures still standing were half buried in the debris, and too risky to spend the night in._

_Climbing down the fourteen km to Gaurikund was also fraught with danger. The river raged alongside them all the way, the mountains would be treacherous and slippery. There were frequent landslides from the unstable, waterlogged, fragile mountain sides._

_But if they had to take news of the disaster and get help, it was best to move downwards._

_Kesh and Sherlock decided to go down with Vedant and Partha. But a handful of lost and dazed pilgrims decided they wanted to follow the two striking young men who looked like they were in charge rather than risk another night alone, clueless in the doomed graveyard of the valley. The two rescued children, who had lost their entire families, clung to Sherlock and Kesh. Three able bodied local men, also keen to go down, offered their expertise and guidance._

So the group gingerly made their way down, through the forest, taking care not to be too much at the edge of the mountain. They walked slowly, helping each other, holding hands, calling out about obstacles ahead. On the way they found other pilgrims, some had clung to the trees at night, entwined their limbs around them, hanging on for dear life all night. The number of the group swelled.

Sherlock and Kesh were in the lead, as they found new paths, warned of dangers, worked out the fragility of the upcoming paths, and led them safely forwards.

Other young men took turns looking after the two children.

Some had lost their footwear, and were starting to form blisters on their feet and this, added to numerous cuts on their feet, made walking difficult. Kesh stopped them, as Sherlock, Kesh, Partha and Vedant took off their shirts, and tore them into strips, tying them around their feet. Women offered to tear their saris as well, modesty forgotten, in the imminent fear of death and uncertainty about the future.

 

 

                                                                                ***

They had hoped that on reaching Rambara that some structures would still be intact, some packets of food lying around for the hungry group who had eaten nothing since the night before.

Instead they were greeted with a sight of complete annihilation. The entire town was covered with rubble, tops of some houses sticking out. The by now usual sight of dead body parts sticking out of the rubble was evident everywhere. Boulders and pebbles and gravel covered completely what had been a bustling hamlet filled with people, mules, houses.

It was as if Rambara never was.

Keeping the rest of the group in the mountains, Sherlock and Kesh decided to move down and inspect the ruins. Food was a serious issue, the cold mountain air posed a serious hypothermia risk. Dusk was falling, the skies slowly getting darker. Finding shelter of any kind was essential.

They reached the open space where Rambara once stood, now covered in rubble. To their left they saw three wild dogs, who upon their approach bared their bloody teeth and growled. They were tearing at an unburied human leg. Even as Sherlock and Kesh froze, they turned their attention back to the leg, tearing huge strips of flesh as they feasted.

To their right a fakir wearing only a loincloth was busy sawing off one arm of a dead woman. Gold bangles were visible at the wrist, and that was presumably his target. Seeing the two men approaching him, he bent the half sawn arm with his strength, to break the bones and took off, disappearing in the mountains with his bounty.

Sherlock and Kesh watched mutely, even as Sherlock murmured thoughtfully, “Who is the animal here, Kesh?”

Kesh shrugged dejectedly.

Suddenly they heard a feeble voice, “Please help me…. please save me…”

They ran hurriedly to peer down the ravine with the fast flowing crazed river below, and saw an old frail gaunt man. Somehow he had gotten wedged between two rocks on his way down to certain death. Both swung into action, unmindful of their scratches and pain, as Sherlock lay down on the uneven ground to reach out to the old man. Even as Kesh tightened his grip on Sherlock’s ankle he anchored himself to another rock. Sherlock pulled the exhausted, frail man up.

Upon reaching the ground, he fell to the ground at Sherlock’s feet, clutching his ankle as he wept, “You are God himself….you saved me…. you were sent by the Gods to save me…..you are God.”

Sherlock bent down to pick the old man up, overwhelmed at the tail end of a long frightening day, as he put a reassuring arm around his shoulders and said gently, “You’re all right now, we’ve got you. We’ll get you out of here.”

“Baba, go over there, go carefully, we will join you soon,” said Kesh, pointing towards the forest where the rest of them were huddled, waiting.

Sherlock and Kesh decided to walk around the cliff perimeter, in case there were others who needed rescuing.

Sherlock said, “Kesh, we haven’t found any food. The children are very hungry. And it is getting quite cold. It will be freezing again tonight, I think.”

Kesh agreed, as he looked around helplessly. Dark was falling, there was nothing they could do.

“You look over here, Sherlock, I’ll take a look over there. I will yell out if I find anything,” said Kesh as he set off towards the far side of the overhanging cliff.

Sherlock kept looking, peering down the slopes, dodging the bigger stones. A few minutes passed as he searched for any survivors or food.

 “ _SHERLOCK_ …….” Kesh’s panicked cry rang out suddenly.

Sherlock’s head snapped up and his heart started thudding in his chest, as he ran; ran as if possessed, effortlessly jumping off rocks as he recognized the panic in Kesh’s voice.

He almost skidded as he reached the narrow ledge, calling out desperately, “Kesh…..Kesh…..answer me….. _KESH_ ….”

“Over here…..” came the response, as Sherlock ran and lay down on the ground; he squinted into the growing darkness and saw a sight that froze his blood.  Kesh hung at the end of a slim tree trunk as he dangled over the raging river below. He had slipped at the edge, when the earth crumbled away from beneath him and desperately clung to the tree.

“Kesh… Kesh.. hang on, I’m coming to get you,” Sherlock shouted frantically, looking around, brain working fiercely, even as he inched more towards the edge.

“No…. _NO,_ Sherlock…no, please, don’t put yourself in danger,” Kesh said, voice frightened but firm.

“Are you crazy, Kesh?” asked Sherlock, even as he inched forwards, able to just reach the tree trunk, but not Kesh’s hand. “Please, Kesh….hang on….I’m coming for you,” Sherlock looked around in panic and urgency, his massive brain computing the options. There was no way the ground would hold him… it was already slipping under him…the river raged below…Kesh would not be able to hold on to the trunk for much longer…the branch was already breaking… it could not hold both their weights… Kesh had another two to three minutes before either the branch broke or his grip slipped…….

“No, Sherlock, stay back, you will fall too. I’ll try to inch forwards,” cried Kesh, even as one hand slipped from the wet slippery branch and he swung precariously above the swollen rapids which seemed to be excitedly leaping up to engulf him.

“No….no, Kesh, _NO_ …” Sherlock cried out, as he wildly looked around for something to anchor himself or with which to pull Kesh up. The ground was already sliding under his belly where he lay and desperately tried to reach Kesh. He toyed with the crazy idea of climbing the tree trunk anyways, knowing that it was too fragile to bear both their weights. But the prospect of living on in a world without Kesh, seemed untenable, too ghastly to imagine….

“I’m coming, Kesh…” he called out as he inched forwards, blinking back tears, trying to stay focused.

“No, Sherlock….. _no_ , stay put,” Kesh cried out urgently, even as his grip on the tree trunk was slowly loosening.

The two friends looked at each other and their eyes locked in a moment of clarity. There were _no_ options to save both of them. Kesh said, “I love you, Sherlock.”

It suddenly was _too much_. Sherlock found himself tears streaming from his eyes as he made himself ready to lunge anyways. But first he twisted to face the sky, rain pouring down his face and with a primal roar, yelled out to a God he did not believe in, “NO….YOU DO NOT get to do this….. **YOU DO NOT** take my Kesh from me…”

Even as he twisted back to Kesh, ready to leap, he felt a strong arm touching him. He looked up to see Partha, stripping his trousers off, as he said, “Sherlock sir, I will lasso this to your legs, you creep down and grab Hrishikesh bhaiyya.”

He made a loop out of the trouser leg and knotted one to Sherlock’s ankle, as looking around, he wedged his legs to a boulder base. “Be careful, Partha,” said Sherlock, to which Partha replied grimly, “Sir, don’t worry. What use is this body, if it can’t be used to save Hrishikesh bhaiyya.”

“I’m coming Kesh. You have to hold on, just a few seconds longer,” said Sherlock as he slid down towards Kesh.

A strong determined arm reached out, as Kesh swung mightily, trying to grab Sherlock’s arm. The moment his hand grasped Sherlock’s hand, Sherlock gave a triumphant cry, “ _YES,_ Kesh….yes, come hold on to me, I’ve got you,” as he expended energy he did not know he possessed, flexing his arm, every muscle screaming, and yet he clung to his friend, his love, his Kesh, as he pulled and pulled. Panting loudly, he inched back, secure in the anchor provided by Partha. An interminable time later, both fell to the ground, gasping aloud with effort and reaction to the stress they had just undergone.

Sherlock twisted his body, to crawl on his hands and knees to Kesh, incoherent with relief, with love. He held the precious body to his chest and buried his face into Kesh neck, shaking like a leaf, with reaction. With a visceral cry he let go completely and sobbed loudly, unconcerned about anything except the man in his arms. He cried like a child cries for its mother, like a lover cries for his beloved, like a devotee cries for his God. Between hitches of breath, he managed to gasp out, “Kesh…Kesh… you’re safe….almost lost you, Kesh…..don’t know what I would have done, Kesh…..cannot live….cannot live without you, Kesh….” He cradled and clutched, and unheeding of Partha, he kissed the beloved face, again and again as he sobbed openly, uninhibited sounds escaping his throat.

Partha left them alone, gone silently.

Kesh stroked his hair as he lay pliantly in Sherlock’s trembling arms, trying to keep it together as he murmured reassurances, “ I’m alright, Sherlock. Shhh….. it’s okay, Sherlock….I’m okay….it’s okay….everything is alright.”

It was a long time before Sherlock reached any semblance of normalcy.

Looking at Kesh, kissing him, Sherlock whispered to the God he did not believe in, “Thank you…thank you, thank you.”

 

                                                                                ***

 

Night had fallen, all was dark.

The locals had guided the group to a set of caves, some very small, some larger. At least they would provide some protection against the rain. With chattering teeth and wet clothes, the group divided themselves to take shelter. Random strangers did not shy away from hugging their fellow sufferers, body warmth being the only option for a modicum of comfort.

After having crawled around and tripped over to each cave to ensure that the group was as okay as it could be, Sherlock and Kesh went to a small cave.

Sherlock had been silent since coming back to join the group. His face though had glowed with a new found understanding and his eyes had somehow grown brighter. He seemed to have become re-energized as he moved, talking, soothing, helping. His eyes tracked Kesh as he moved around too, instructing Vedant, Partha and some of the other able bodied men.

Sherlock and Kesh settled down on opposite walls of the small cave for a bit, needing time to regroup after a difficult and surreal day. They breathed in tandem, aware of each other and of each other’s thoughts, minds in complete harmony.

“Uncle, please can I sleep with you?” a timid voice called out in the dark. The little girl, Sherlock had rescued came into the cave, holding the hand of the younger boy rescued by Kesh.

Both Sherlock’s and Kesh’s hands shot out instinctively, each grabbing a child and pulling them to their laps. They lacked the courage to ask about the children’s family, now was not the time.

The thin, trembling girl sat on Sherlock’s lap snuggling her bony body to Sherlock’s bare chest as his arms tightened around her and he stroked her hair with one gently. He placed soft kisses on her forehead as his eyes looked up, trying to see Kesh. He was holding the smaller boy close to him as well.

“What is your name, child?” asked Sherlock gently.

“Manjula,” she replied. “I’m hungry. My tummy hurts.”

Sherlock looked around helplessly, as a knot formed in his throat and he gulped. Jaw clenched, he pulled some grass from just outside the cave and held it up to the ongoing rain, to wash the mud off. He held it up to the little girl and said softly, “Here, Manjula. Eat this for now. Tomorrow I will find you some food. Eat this…..it will make your tummy hurt less.” The tired girl dutifully chewed on the grass held in Sherlock’s hand.

He looked up, and saw Kesh mimicking his actions with the little boy.

Kesh reached out a foot and caressed Sherlock’s foot soothingly, as they shared this one more experience at the end of the day from hell.

                                                                                ***

Sherlock and Kesh woke up early. After handing over the still sleeping children to Partha and Vedant, they went deeper into the woods to relieve themselves, and have some time alone.

“It has stopped raining, Sherlock. Maybe things will look up today,” said Kesh.

Sherlock pulled Kesh to him, holding him close, as he kissed him, loving hands cupping his face, nuzzling that beloved face as he rubbed noses. He murmured softly, “You’re alive. You’re with me. I find myself strangely unconcerned about anything else."

Kesh burrowed his face into Sherlock’s neck as they held each other for a bit.

 

                                                                                                                                             ***

 

It was around daybreak that the group stirred and started moving about. The rain had eased off during the night, and for the first time in three days, they saw faded sunlight. It seemed to bring a cheer among the group, after they had successfully negotiated the night.

Then Vedant cried out loudly, “ _LISTEN_!”

Everyone stopped, as they strained to hear what he had indicated.

From afar, but getting louder every second, was the welcome sound of helicopter blades. A huge cheer went through the group as they hugged each other. They ran, stumbling, skidding to the clearing outside, where Rambara used to be, as they looked up at the skies. The helicopter blades were competing with the sounds of the rapid waters of the still tumultuous river below.

Sherlock and Kesh came running from the woods. They watched as the helicopter passed them by, to make its way up to Kedarnath.

For the next hour, the group watched as every ten minutes a helicopter passed them by. They waved and yelled.

Then a helicopter came closer and hovered over them. There was no place to land as Rambara was covered in rubble, but it came as close to the ground as it dared. The noise became deafening as a lone man, in an army uniform climbed down a rope and finally jumped to the ground. He was tall and muscular, wearing sunglasses. He walked forward towards the group.

Sherlock and Kesh walked forward to meet him.

The man observed the two tall bare chested men, one pale, one dark, as he walked closer. Their gait was regal despite the fact that both wore only torn trousers.  He was struck by how the group stayed behind, reminded of reports of stampedes whenever a helicopter had landed in Kedarnath, as hundreds of people fought their way to the chopper. But it seemed that this group had elected these two men as their leaders, and without even a hand gesture to stop them, they seemed to command the group, by their sheer presence.

He neared them as two pairs of alert intelligent eyes looked back. He ran his eyes over the Caucasian, pale tall, matted curly black hair, imperious although he stood there half naked, flashing blue-gray-green eyes, scratches all over his body, caked blood from some deeper cuts. He looked at the Indian, his eyes widened his recognition as he almost ran forward and eagerly introduced himself, “Are you….are you Hrishikesh Yadav?” At Kesh’s nod, he continued, “Sir, my name is Captain Ajit Malhotra. Sir, it is a privilege to meet you.”

After shaking hands, he looked at Sherlock and said in a deferential tone, “Are you Mr. Sherlock Holmes?”

Sherlock nodded and shook his hand as the Captain straightened his back and said, “Sir, your brother, Mr Mycroft Holmes, has sent us. We have come to take you down to Rudraprayag. He is waiting for you.”

 

                                                                                                To be continued………

 

 

** AUTHOR'S NOTES-- **

 

The Kedarnath tragedy now called the “Himalayan Tsunami” happened on the 16th and 17th of June 2013. For those interested there are many Youtube videos (though most picture the onrush of water downstream, I don’t think anyone in Kedarnath was standing with a video camera!) and before and after satellite images of Kedarnath on Google. Both make compelling viewing and will give you a better idea than my feeble powers of expression.

The cloudburst happened on the evening of the 16th of June. The tsunami was on the morning of the 17th of June. It is thought that the Chaurabari Glacier lake at the foot of the glacier high up in the mountain, had swelled with rain water and glacial melt waters. The wall was breached, resulting in the deafening crack and millions of gallons of water rushed down all at once, carrying with it huge boulders from the glacial moraine bed.

We Indians are notorious at record keeping, no one knows how many died. Figures shift from 10000 to 50000. Having gone to these places during peak season, I believe it is closer to the latter figure.

Apart from shifting the events to a year later, I have tried to stick to the timeline of events. This though, is a fanfiction story, not a geological report, so undoubtedly I have got things wrong. Please excuse them.

For those interested, the Kedarnath temple has reopened for rituals. The trek, more treacherous now, is for 24 kms.  
Do consider leaving a comment if you have read this far, and liked anything. It has been a hard and emotional chapter to write. You see, Kedarnath was my favourite place in the world, too….

Finally, I humbly submit this chapter to the feet of Lord Kedarnath, Rudra himself. O fierce one, O Rudra, forgive my boldness…..O Auspicious one, O Shiva, grant me and the readers of this story, the qualifications for Moksha, so we may make the right efforts and lead a free and happy life, enjoying the world, without being tethered to it….

 

 

 


	16. Nimitta bhava- Be an instrument

“Sir, your brother, Mr Mycroft Holmes, has sent us. We have come to take you down to Rudraprayag. He is waiting for you,” said Captain Malhotra.

Sherlock’s eyes widened as he exchanged pleased looks with Kesh. He turned back to Captain Malhotra and nodded gravely, “Please accept my thanks for coming to get me. But, I must insist you take these people first.” He gestured to the waiting group behind him. “Kesh and I will follow.”

“But….but Sir, my instructions are to bring you and Mr. Yadav down to safety!” the Captain protested as he looked at the group of forty men, women and children behind him. His expression was conflicted, as he pursed his lips. “We can take 4-5 more people with you. But we are severely short of helicopters. As a matter of fact Mr. Mycroft Holmes wanted to personally come in this chopper to assist in locating you. We advised him that he would just be wasting a seat that could be taken up by another stranded victim.”

Sherlock arched an eyebrow, his tone uncompromising, “Your options are to take these people first or to go back with a chopper without any survivors, Captain.”

The Captain took a deep breath as he thought. Finally he shrugged his wide shoulders, “Very well, Mr. Holmes. But I cannot guarantee that we will be allowed to return to this location immediately. There are many more stranded up in Kedarnath and they are the army’s priority. Also more rains are predicted later today and this may cause rescue efforts to stall. You may have to wait a while.”

“So be it. Tell my dear brother that I will come back _only_ once all these people have been airlifted.” Sherlock smirked, “I’m certain he will work something out.”

Kesh stepped into the exchange for the first time. “Ajit, can you try and contact my friend, Uddhav Sharma? Tell him, I have said to spare no expense. Hire more helicopters if they are available. Bring as many people to safety as you can find. Almost everyone is in need of some medical attention. Once these passengers land, they are to be fed and clothed and looked after till I get there. Just give him this message, he will know what to do.”

“Sir, Uddhav is already organizing everything with Mr Mycroft Holmes. They have been working frantically over the last twenty four hours, everything is in place. Doctors, medical equipment, warm clothes, shelter, food to feed an army.” He laughed, “Actually they are doing a good job feeding a lot of our boys in the army already.”

Sherlock and Kesh nodded their approval as they turned back and walked to the group. A jubilant  anticipation was buzzing among them. Many were mentally congratulating themselves for having chosen to follow this pair of men, instead of waiting at Kedarnath.

An order was decided upon. Manjula and the little boy named Subin, the old man they had rescued, some other elderly folks and the women would be airlifted first. They would be followed by the men. Sherlock, Kesh, Vedant and Partha would join the last set. While they were busy, the Captain went close to the helicopter and gestured. Three large canvas bags were dropped which he and Partha pulled closer to the group.

“Sir, in these bags are some warm clothes, food, water and some basic medical supplies. If we are allowed to come back after dropping the first lot of passengers, we can bring more. Please be ready for us,” he said.

A rope ladder was dropped from the helicopter as the first lot of passengers made their way to it. Manjula held on to Sherlock’s hand, while Subin was with Kesh. As they were being assisted up, Manjula clutched Sherlock’s hand desperately, “Please uncle, please come with me.” Giving her a reassuring hug Sherlock said, his voice thick with emotion, “I will follow close behind, Manjula. Go, child. There will be real food waiting for you and Subin.” He put one hand gently over her head before letting her go.

 

                                                                                ***

 

The loud din of the helicopter blades was deafening as it landed on Rudraprayag’s only helipad. Army personnel were everywhere, assisting the survivors to the waiting buses, taking them to make-shift shelters in the town.

_It had been an emotional trip back for the last lot of six men--- Sherlock, Kesh, Vedant, Partha and two other locals. It had started to drizzle again and the sturdy helicopter swayed slightly in the mountain breeze as it flew. The scene of devastation through the narrow valley and the deep gorges carved out by the river was stupefying. Rubble had extended down almost to Gaurikund, but fortunately only some of the large stones had reached it. The town had been severely affected by the oncoming water though, many buildings had been cut into half or uprooted. The men had seen so much devastation and in so short a time, that it was getting hard to compute the loss of life and property._

Sherlock stepped over the metal footrest on the outside of the helicopter, before jumping off. He ducked his head as he walked forward.

About to turn around to wait for Kesh and the others, his vision was obscured by a blur of red which flashed past him and directly into the arms of the just descended Kesh. Meera wearing a red sari, clung to Kesh, her face buried into his chest, arms tightly clutching him as she sobbed, “Bhaiyya…..bhaiyya, you are back. We were losing our minds. We wanted to run up to Kedarnath after you. We were so….” her sobs became uncontrollable and she could not speak anymore.

Kesh consoled her, running his hand over her head, even as Uddhav stepped forward and gave Sherlock an emotional hug, unable to speak due to his relief. As Uddhav stepped forward to meet Kesh, Partha and Vedant came out of the helicopter and their wives and children ran to have an emotional reunion. Everyone was informed about Haridas’s death, which led to a shocked outpouring of grief.

Sherlock pulled his eyes away from all these people and his bright eyes scanned the remainder of the helipad, searching.

The tall, lone figure of a stoic looking Mycroft Holmes stood afar, watching everything unfold.

As Sherlock strode up to him, they took in each other’s appearance. Sherlock noted Mycroft, who looked like he had aged ten years; white stubble, rolled up shirt sleeves, hair mussed, a faint glimmer of tears in his eyes along with love and relief. Mycroft noted Sherlock; wearing just torn trousers, his stride confident and eager, the alert eyes from which intelligence and insight spilled equally. He could not remember the last time he had felt this overwhelmed.

As Sherlock neared, Mycroft swayed slightly towards him and Sherlock was just in time to catch the sagging, relieved figure of his brother into his strong arms. They hugged. Both were equally not given to exhibiting this much emotion but all was forgotten in this moment of reunion, the masks off as they held each other for several seconds.

Mycroft drew back and sniffed mildly as he looked into Sherlock’s eyes. He raised one hand to touch his brother’s face and said, his voice emotional, “I thought I had lost you….” Sherlock's smile pressed against Mycroft’s hand, “I knew you would come…..”

Sherlock turned around and looked, wanting to catch Kesh’s eye, eager to introduce him to Mycroft. Kesh stood surrounded by people as usual, talking and gesturing. Mycroft followed Sherlock’s gaze to Kesh, just as Kesh smiled and started walking up to them.

Mycroft straightened to his full height, a warm smile on his face as he set his eyes for the first time on Kesh-- the man who loved his brother, the man who had saved his brother and looked after him when he was sick and provided emotional comfort when he was at his lowest, the man who his brother described as _extraordinary_ , the man about whom he had heard so much in the twenty four hours he had been in Rudraprayag.

Kesh neared, a wide smile on his face at seeing Mycroft, his dimples carving deep grooves on his cheeks. Mycroft extended his hand for a handshake. He was taken aback at finding himself engulfed in a warm embrace, but recovered quickly with a laugh to hug Kesh back with enthusiasm.

Sherlock spoke, pride and delight dripping from his voice, “Mycroft, this is Kesh. Kesh, meet my brother.”

As the three men stood talking, Uddhav walked up to them with shirts in his hands. His tone was brisk, “Hrishikesh, Sherlock, I have made arrangements for all of you to go home first. There is a medical team waiting there to tend to these bruises and scratches that all of you have. You can have some food and rest.”

Mycroft watched as Sherlock and Kesh looked at each other, a lightening quick communication sparked between their eyes. They turned to Uddhav and Kesh said, “We would prefer to go where everyone is....the people in our group, the children. We would like to see them first. And anyone else you are taking care of. There will be a lot more on the way, Uddhav. Have we made some arrangements to look after so many? Perhaps, we can ask Mr Rathod if we can use the school building. It is still school holidays after all.”

A sad look crossed Uddhav's face, “Hrishikesh, the school building does not exist anymore. It was swept away in the floods.” Sherlock pursed his lips and sighed, his eyes flicking briefly at Kesh before turning back to Uddhav. He said, “Well, what is, _is_. What other options are available to us?”

Mycroft and Uddhav started to explain the arrangements had been made so far, as the whole group walked towards the cars waiting for them.

There was a marriage hall close to the school, where Uddhav had gotten married, which had thrown its doors open. There was the old people’s home founded by Kesh, which had relocated furniture to make space for maximum people. The kitchen facilities at both places were already functional and equipped to deal with the influx. The hospital which Kesh had helped build, had ambulances, doctors, nurses and medical supplies on standby.

Kesh nodded approvingly as he climbed into the car, “Lets go to where the children and the group we spent the night with, are. We will eat once we get there.”

 

 

                                                                                ***

 

As the men walked into the marriage hall, which housed the survivors, Manjula and Subin came running, calling out eagerly, “Uncle, uncle…”

Mycroft watched as a thin, young girl launched herself into Sherlock’s waiting arms, as he knelt down to hug her, “Manjula, have you eaten, child? Tell me what did you eat?” He gently kissed her forehead and listened to her answers patiently. Subin snuggled to Kesh. The two men talked to the children, generous with their touches and reassuring voices. Mycroft looked in wonder, trying to think of a time when he had seen Sherlock cuddle a child.

_Who are you and what have you done with my brother?_

The entire group that they had been with stepped forward and engulfed Sherlock and Kesh, some thanking them, some telling them about their trip down, all wanting to be close to their two saviours. They had had food and their wounds had been tended to.

Sherlock looked around the hall and the crowds gathered there. Mattresses had been laid in a line to allow people to rest, blankets were in plentiful supply. Many of Kesh’s friends were there, well known to Sherlock since the wedding. They paused for a while to greet Kesh and Sherlock and welcome them back, before leaving again to their tasks. Most were talking to individual survivors to get the contact details of family and friends, offering their mobiles to make contact. Some were shepherding people towards food or medical attention. Meera had taken over care of the elderly folks, talking to them in reassuring tones in her own no-nonsense way.

Sonali, Vedant’s wife and Uddhav’s mother had taken over the care of ten surviving children without families, assisted by Mahesh (Meera’s little brother) and Vinod (Vedant’s son) who had come there with their toys and books. Partha, Vedant, Shankar--indeed all of Kesh’s staff was there, fetching things, running chores to town to buy rations, driving people to the shelters, following Sherlock and Kesh’s instructions.

Slowly the mountain tribal folk from around Harsil began to trickle in.

They arrived after hours of travel, having begged for lifts from passing buses and walking for a considerable distance. They had come because the call had gone out that Hrishikesh bhaiyya was lost in Kedarnath. They were determined to help search for him. It was a spontaneous outpouring of love for the man who had helped them so much. When they saw Kesh and Sherlock, there was a uniform outpouring of affection and relief. Having already arrived on the spot, they offered to hike up the mountains along with the army folk. Strategies were discussed to use them and their expertise in the best possible way. They were to leave the next day with backpacks of food and clothing, their focus would be to search for folk stranded in the mountains, where helicopters would be unable to spot them.

Mycroft observed Sherlock with pride and joy in his eyes. His brother walked around among the survivors, bending down to touch a shoulder _here_ , squatting down as he listened patiently to a crying human talk about their loss _there_. He observed as people approached Sherlock to ask for help, to get instructions about their next task.  Kesh was doing the same, even busier as all the volunteers seemed to know him.

He thought of Sherlock just two months ago, as he'd stood lonely and aloof in his trademark Belstaff coat, imperious and short in his dealings with everyone, the brilliant beautiful eyes hiding a deep discontent and sorrow. He tried to reconcile that image with the man in front of him now...... the thin young girl leaning over his shoulder as he talked to a survivor about his ordeal and gave orders in his deep baritone to the waiting Partha. Still his brilliant brother, but with an added layer of _something…_..empathy?....,compassion?.. _...love?_ thought Mycroft hopefully.

Mycroft observed how aware Sherlock and Kesh were of each other, each glancing at the other every couple of minutes. He watched silently, savouring their survival and their obvious connection. He was jerked out of his reverie, as an old man walked up to him, hands folded in Namaste, as he said in a trembling voice, “Please help me call my brother. I have the number with me.” Hastily Mycroft removed his mobile from his pocket and dialed the number, eager to help as well.

“Of course.”

 

                                                                                ***

Sherlock walked into the large outdoor area with cooking facilities at around five in the evening, looking for Kesh.

Kesh sat on a chair as he talked to Uddhav and Meera about Haridas. They had tears in their eyes as they listened to Kesh. Sherlock softened his approach as he observed his Kesh struggling to keep it together, voice breaking with emotion. Meera and Uddhav looked up at Sherlock as he neared, their expression grief-stricken and helpless in front of Kesh's sorrow.

Sherlock gently knelt down in front of his friend, his hands light on Kesh's knees. Kesh's head fell on Sherlock's shoulder as he allowed sobs to rack his body, hands clutching at Sherlock’s shirt, “Now I have no elders left, Sherlock…..I have no one who I can go to as a child.” Sherlock held him close, stroking his hair, whispering in his ear.

Meera and Uddhav left the two men alone quietly.

 

                                                                                ***

 

It was past ten at night, when Mycroft, Sherlock, Kesh and Uddhav finally sat down to have dinner at the old people’s home. Most of the elderly folk had been relocated here, because of better facilities to look after them--walking sticks, age appropriate toilets and of course the company of other older people. Many had successfully contacted their extended families or friend’s who were now on their way to collect them. Some who had no one left were offered an extended stay in the home, while options were explored. It was harder to get details from the displaced children, but efforts were on in trying to search for their families.

As the four men were served dinner by Meera and Sonali, Sherlock and Kesh took turns filling Mycroft and Uddhav with the horrifying details of the tragedy that had unfolded at Kedarnath. Though all four men were tired, no one wanted to separate for a rest, the relief at finding that Sherlock and Kesh were safe was still acute. Moved by the stories of loss of entire families and the lamenting that had gone on all day, they felt they needed their closeness to fill them with a renewed enthusiasm to face the challenges ahead.

Media persons, photographers and reporters were swarming everywhere in Rudraprayag. They had set up help lines and were trying to connect the families. They took it upon themselves to inform the world about the unique disaster. Army vehicles were everywhere, diligently and efficiently planning and executing rescue operations. Many dropped in at the marriage hall and old people’s home to have a ready hot meal, as they took a few moments to rest.

News had filtered in of an army rescue helicopter which had crashed into the mountains during a rescue mission, news that was greeted with shock and sadness that resonated throughout the country. Aid was flowing in from ordinary citizens. Politicians were forced to put aside their usual indifference and lack of initiative, as the media focused increasingly on the political response.

The population of Rudraprayag was swelling by the minute, as families searching for their loved ones came there. They stuck photographs of their lost kin on shop walls, trees, sides of the street. They stopped random strangers on the street, and holding up the photos asked in hopeful tones, “Bhaiyya, have you seen this man/woman/child?”

As Kesh did a final round of the survivors and talked to Uddhav and other volunteers, Sherlock sat alongside Mycroft, enjoying the first moment of quiet that day, his eyes on Kesh.

Mycroft finally spoke, his voice held wonder, “ _How many_ friends does this man have? Sherlock, I have been hearing stories about him since yesterday. Who he is, what he does, how he helps every one. If I had not heard it and seen it, I would not have believed it!”

Sherlock smiled softly, “Mycroft, the whole world is his friend. _Believe_ it. Because he does nothing for himself, only pours his efforts out into the universe selflessly. Kesh says, the universe will decide what needs to happen and when it needs to happen. It presents the action it demands of you by putting you into a situation. You are an instrument only.....so be the sharpest and best instrument you can be.”

There was a pause as Mycroft reflected on this extraordinary vision of the world. His contemplation was interrupted after some time by Sherlock's rapt words, “And he loves _me_ , Mycroft. He is _my Kesh_. Completely and totally mine. I find it unbelievable.”

Mycroft's smile was delighted, “I never thought I would say this to _you_. I had always thought it would be the other way around. But Sherlock, _you_ are a lucky man.” He squeezed Sherlock’s arm with affection, his gaze intent as he continued. “And the question you now need to ask yourself is this; Are you _his_?”

Sherlock looked at him with narrowed eyes for several moments, a thoughtful expression on his face, before swinging his gaze back to Kesh.

 

                                                                                ***

 

It was close to midnight by the time Vedant dropped Mycroft, Sherlock and Kesh home. Uddhav was at the marriage hall with many of Kesh’s friends and Partha. Sonali had taken the children to Partha’s house for the night. Meera was at the old people’s home, looking after the elderly folk with the help of other staff.

The house seemed even more empty without Haridas. Sherlock and Kesh stood looking morosely into the kitchen, as they let their memories of Haridas flood them again. Mycroft stood silent as he watched them.

Finally Kesh gave a deep sigh and turned to Mycroft.

“Mycroft, I am sorry I did not have enough time to talk to you today. I know you understand.”

“You were busy, Kesh. All of us were busy," Mycroft smiled reassuringly. "I will be here for another couple of days. We will have time to talk I’m sure. I am _so_ looking forward to it.”

Kesh smiled back as he nodded, “Me too. Most eagerly.” He gestured up the stairs, “You and Sherlock can sleep in his room, it is on the second floor.”

Even as Mycroft opened his mouth to respond, Sherlock interjected. “I will be sleeping in Kesh’s bedroom, Mycroft.” He touched Kesh's arm briefly, “It’s alright Kesh.”

He waved his hand vaguely, “Come with me, Mycroft. I’ll show you your room. You haven’t slept for two days and you look exhausted. You need to rest.”

 

                                                                                ***

 

Sherlock ran his fingers over Kesh’s face, as they lay in bed, silently looking at each other.

Kesh's eyes were heavy with sleep as he mumbled, “So much, Sherlock….so much. In such a short time, so much has happened. Just three days ago, we were on this bed without any inkling of all the disaster that will unfold. All those people…. lives lost, livelihoods lost, children orphaned, entire families gone…..so much….”

Sherlock took a deep breath and whispered, “We did well, Kesh….given the circumstances, we did what we had to…..we did well, Kesh......you’re alive, we are together…..that is my miracle…..” He stroked Kesh’s hair as he talked, watching as his friend’s eyes slowly closed. He kept stroking and touching for a long while looking thoughtfully at Kesh’s face before he too succumbed to sleep.

 

                                                                                                                To be continued……..                     


	17. Shraddha-Faith

It was six thirty in the morning when Mycroft finally awakened from a dreamless, refreshing sleep, to the sounds of dozens of birds chirping and fighting on the terrace outside his room. A hazy sunlight filtered through the translucent cream curtains, casting a golden glow in the room and on his bed. He blinked and looked around before he remembered …..India …Rudraprayag ….Kedarnath …..Kesh …. _Sherlock._

He sat up, alert and feeling mentally relaxed and ready. Quickly putting on fresh trousers and a shirt, he opened his bedroom door and silently went down the steps following the sounds coming from the kitchen. Kesh was awake, showered and dressed, making tea. He greeted Mycroft with a smile, “Good morning, Mycroft. I hope you slept well! Would you like to have some tea as well? Sherlock is still sleeping, I’m afraid.”

Mycroft smiled and nodded, “Tea would be lovely, thank you, Kesh." He watched as Kesh poured the hot tea through the strainer into two cups. "I was wondering, is it possible to have it out in the garden? It is such a beautiful day. I am thankful it isn’t raining today.”

"Yes, lets sit out there," Kesh agreed amiably. They picked up their cups and made their way outside. Kesh continued, "I too am thankful it isn't raining today. It will make the army’s work that much easier. I have to leave after having tea. Sherlock and you can come whenever you are ready. Or if you prefer to spend some time with each other, that’s okay too, because there are already a lot of people hard at work. It will be fine.”

 

                                                                                                ***

Mycroft gave a deep appreciative sigh as he put his cup of tea down on the garden table and leaned back on his armchair.

“That was truly excellent, thank you, Kesh,” he remarked.

Kesh smiled, “Haridas taught me how to make chai tea just right. He would normally be hovering around here, cheerfully serving us himself.” He looked around as his face fell, a small frown on his forehead.

Mycroft said gently, “You lost your parents suddenly when you were young, isn’t it, Kesh?”

Kesh’s brown eyes turned to Mycroft and he replied softly, “Yes.”

Mycroft's gaze was appraising, as he sat quietly.

_I want to talk to him about Sherlock. I don’t think my usual skillful manipulation and subtle intimidation techniques are appropriate here. He is a straightforward man.  He loves Sherlock, but I wonder if he even realizes what Sherlock IS, whether he realizes what Sherlock is like in London. I need him to talk to me, to assure me about his feelings, his intentions towards my brother…_

Aloud, he said, “Sherlock and I were fortunate enough to have a very good childhood. As you perhaps already know, our parents are still alive. They are good loving parents. And Sherlock of course has had me to look after him as well. In that sense, he has lead a sheltered life up until now.”

Kesh's gaze was astute, easily reading the unspoken intent. He gestured towards the out gate, “There is a beautiful path through the woods that goes to the top of this hill. It is an hour’s walk altogether and you can get a lovely view of Rudraprayag. Would you like to go for a walk while we talk?”

Mycroft nodded, “That would be a capital idea!”

They commenced walking in silence, hands in their pockets, breathing in the fresh mountain air and wet earth, made more so by plentiful rain, listening to the birds as they chirped and cooed.

After some time, Mycroft said, “Sherlock was an extraordinary child, as you can imagine, Kesh. Terrifyingly brilliant, devouring all avenues of knowledge in his urge to _know_ , both curious and innocent in so many ways. We were each other’s friends, supporters, confidantes. We never felt the need to associate with lesser minds, quite content to be in each other’s company.”

Kesh interjected, “You must have been lonely till he came along, Mycroft?”

“Yes, yes I was,” answered Mycroft softly. “When he came along, it was like meeting an alter ego, except he was so much _more_ in every way. Passionate, philosophical, creative---the exact opposite of me in fact, except for our intellects.”

They walked quietly for some time, each lost in thought. Kesh waited, well aware that Mycroft was not just reminiscing, that there was an endgame in his musings.

After some time, Mycroft continued, “Then he went to college and things were a bit _difficult_ for some time. There was a period of experimentation... with sex, with drugs. He was never really addicted to either, it was all just curiosity and boredom. A wild period, but mercifully short. It only lasted for a couple of years.”

Mycroft glanced quickly at Kesh to see how he was taking all this. Kesh looked thoughtful but unperturbed.

Mycroft took a deep breath, “After college, as a young man with an intellect that was head and shoulders above the rest of humanity and a mind that could get easily bored, he came upon a crime scene. Lestrade was the young police officer there, to whom Sherlock handed over the criminal using only his powers of observation and deduction. The rest is history. Sherlock changed after that. He became …….almost an ascetic, living on the high of his intellectual prowess alone, shunning company of tedious people. He poured himself into the _Work_ , using both the violin and occasional cocaine to ward off boredom, when he felt unchallenged…..And then John Watson happened to him.”

They had arrived at the summit. Kesh gestured to old rickety wooden chairs upon which they seated themselves, taking in the view of Rudraprayag, the still fast flowing swollen waters of the river and the surrounding mountains.

 “John Watson was a middle aged army doctor, discharged from active duty due to a war injury, living on an army pension. He was a loner, without any friends or supportive family, without any prospects, suffering from PTSD, trust issues and suicidal ideation. Chance brought them together. John suddenly found himself caught up in the whirlwind that was life with Sherlock..... endless excitement and intrigue, mortal danger and a chance to fight crime. He latched on to it fiercely. Sherlock found himself a friend who idolized him, praised his brilliance and followed him everywhere. It was an exhilarating time of his life. Do you know about Moriarty and Irene Adler?” asked Mycroft turning to Kesh.

Kesh nodded.

“In a span of just eighteen months, John had become very important to Sherlock; enough to make him want to jump off a building and hunt down every last bit of Moriarty’s network for two years, undergo torture, cold exposure, homelessness, mortal danger. You have seen the horrific scars on his back?” asked Mycroft.

Kesh nodded again, but kept quiet.

Mycroft continued, “Of course, he partly did it for the thrill of the chase and because he _is_ an obstinate man. But it was more for his friends, more for John." Mycroft went silent for a few moments as he stared out at the mountains, his jaw clenched. Finally, he gave a deep sigh, "He came back after two years and was punched in the mouth for his trouble, was introduced to John’s betrothed, became best man at his wedding, was shot by Mary. And then he in turn shot Magnussen, risked his freedom, his safety all over again. All to ensure a safe and happy life for John and Mary. Everything he has done for the past few years, in one way or another, has been for John, as a response to his infatuation for John."

Mycroft shook his head as he looked at Kesh, "John Watson is a good man, don’t get me wrong. He was a good friend to Sherlock, loyal and tenacious. But there are _many_ good men, there is _only one_ Sherlock Holmes. He could never really be all that Sherlock needed him to be, certainly he could _never_ be an adequate life partner for Sherlock.”

Kesh observed Mycroft staring out into the distance; the clenched jaw, the fists curled tight, the narrowed eyes. He stayed quiet.

Mycroft's voice was soft when he spoke again after another long pause. “And then he came to you.”

He turned to face Kesh, a look of wonder on his face, “In his darkest moment, he turned to _you_. I know very little about what happened when you looked after him last year. I know a little about his visit this time.”

Mycroft stood up to pace, as he tried to find the right words for what he was about to say next.

There was an earnest sincerity on his face as he halted and turned to face Kesh.

“Kesh, the reason for my preamble was not to betray Sherlock’s confidence. In any case, I cannot imagine that there is anything about him that you do not already know. But I am struggling to find the words to describe the sheer _enormity_ of Sherlock. It is like trying to draw a word picture of an exploding star, a _supernova_ , trying to find the words that would do justice to the grandeur, the beauty, the awesome force of nature. In many ways it is a futile effort.”

Kesh smiled and nodded in agreement.

Mycroft sat down on the bench once more, leaning forwards in his eagerness to make Kesh see. “Sherlock is.....Sherlock is not what people call 'a nice man', Kesh. He can be abrasive, he has little patience with fools and their folly, he can be self centered and egoistical. He does not concern himself with rules, societal norms and other such trivialities.”

Mycroft leaned forward and set earnest eyes on Kesh, “The people who surround him in London do not really know him. They see the beauty of the body and want to mate it. They experience the formidable intellect and are either in awe and intimidated or use that intellect for their purposes. They experience his disdain and brusque behaviour and resent him for reminding them how limited they are….. But Kesh, he is a great man. He is honourable, perceptive, he has a keen sense of justice, he is kind in his own way. And he is also a man with a capacity for deep love, intense passion.”

The two men held each other’s gaze, both exceptionally perceptive in their own way and effortlessly reading the subtext between the words, aware of the profundity of their conversation.

Mycroft continued, “I know he appears to be taking his time to make up his mind. I assure you it is not prevarication or hesitation. He is a creature of intellect and logic, he will find it impossible to make a commitment until his rational analytical brain is satisfied. I assure you that if he decides to commit, it will not be a frivolous decision…….I _know_ he has not been in an intimate relationship for years, since college in fact….. Kesh, I fervently hope…… it is my _dearest_ wish to see the two of you together…. I know that in you, Sherlock has found someone who is worthy of him…..”

Mycroft sighed softly as he hung his head low for a few moments, _I think he does understand....my fears, my concerns...But he's so quiet, he hasn't said a word..._. He looked back up at Kesh, “I have looked after and worried about my brother for so long…..I know he is not a child, but it is hard from my perspective …..Sometimes I feel like I have been given a priceless natural treasure that I need to care for, whom I need to guard…..and now I have met you….. I don’t feel alone anymore. For the first time I feel I’ve met someone who can take over, who will care and love Sherlock, who will cherish and appreciate him for who he is, for _what_ he is……I know you are waiting for his decision. Kesh, can I ask that you wait for as long as it takes? That you do not give up on him?”

Having stated all that he wished for and all that he feared, Mycroft fell silent. His gaze was hopeful as he looked at Kesh.

Kesh smiled warmly, aware that Mycroft had said all he wished to.

His voice was soft, gentle. “I am so glad we had this conversation." He leaned forward. “Everyone looks up to me out here, Mycroft. There is no one I can talk to about how I feel, what I want.”

Mycroft gave a short nod even as he felt the relief flood in at Kesh's warm tone.

Kesh continued, “Mycroft, I met your brother last year, when he was recovering from surgery and had collapsed at Rishikesh. I brought him home so that I could care for him. I was……I was _mesmerized_ straightaway. With his beauty, with his obvious staggering intelligence, his character, his sheer _presence_. I could not believe…… I still cannot believe that someone like him exists.”

Kesh blushed a bit, as he looked down for a few seconds before looking at Mycroft again. He said softly without a shred of guile, “I love him, Mycroft. I have placed my heart, my soul, my body, my being in his hands. For him to do with as he pleases. Whatever he decides, I belong to him. If he chooses to give me the gift of his heart, his love….. I cannot even imagine a more precious thing in this world. I will guard it, cherish it… On the other hand if he chooses to leave, if he finds himself unable to commit, _nothing changes_. I will continue to love him, always. I will always be his friend. I will always wait for him. Please know that I speak the truth, that I am speaking from my heart.”

Mycroft watched Kesh’s face as he spoke, joyful and relieved. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, replaying the words in his mind, smile growing wider. Kesh sat patiently, watching the play of emotions on Mycroft’s face, his own eyes full of understanding. After a couple of minutes, Mycroft beamed as he stood up and placed his hand on Kesh’s shoulder.

“Kesh, you have said exactly what I needed to hear. Thank you....I...Thank you.” Kesh smiled back, as Mycroft continued, “I leave later today. You will most likely be busy with all the work you have to do and I may be unable to say a proper good bye to you. But I am very hopeful of seeing you in London soon. Do you think that is likely?”

Kesh smiled, “Before we went to Kedarnath, I wasn’t sure. But it is looking increasingly likely, Mycroft.” His tone became wistful as he continued with a faraway look in his eyes, “I have dreamed……. Dreamed of seeing Sherlock in London, watch him making deductions at crime scenes ….see him in his natural milieu.”

“Oh Kesh…..he is like a force of nature. Quite something to behold, I assure you!”

 

                                                                                ***

Sherlock, Kesh, Mycroft and Uddhav stood around in a circle discussing about the people stranded at the old people’s home and the marriage hall, tallying whose relatives had been traced and what efforts could be made for the rest.

Rescue efforts were ongoing and the place was a beehive of activity, with stranded survivors and families looking for lost ones. The volunteers, Kesh’s friends, everyone had come in full force and were filled with enthusiasm for what needed to be done. Things were less chaotic and more organized now, with tasks divided. A steady stream of people approached Uddhav or Kesh or Sherlock to ask for advice, instructions or simply share the progress of their efforts.

Mr Rathod came to meet them, to lend his services. They talked about the sudden floods, how the school building had collapsed and was swept away by the ferocity of the water.

 “Sherlock Sir, I have brought something for you,” said Mr Rathod, the school principal, in a somber voice, as he reached inside his bag and removed a piece of cloth wrapped around something.

Sherlock look puzzled as he accepted the cloth parcel and opened it. It held a piece of the school wall, about the size of a book, the brown paint depicting part of a violin still vital and beautiful.

_“Uncle, what are you painting?” asked the young girl of about ten, peering wide eyed at the pale man, paint brush in hand, meticulously applying paint on the internal wall of the ground floor classroom._

_“It is a violin. You did tell me this is going to be your music room, I thought it would be fitting if we painted some musical instruments on the walls. It will look cheerful and may inspire all of you.”_

_“A  vi-o-lin. We don’t know this instrument. Is it from where you live?” she inquired innocently._

_“Yes. Yes, it is. Would you like to see one?”_

_Nodding eagerly, she called some of her mates, “This uncle is going to show us a new instrument. It is called vi-o-lin. He has one!”_

_Sherlock smiled, “I could actually play for you when your school officially opens. How does that sound?”_

_The children laughed as they spontaneously cheered and clapped._

Sherlock ran delicate fingers over the small intact piece of a memory, over the violin he had painted, made to resemble the violin Kesh had. Everyone looked wordlessly, as they absorbed one more dream that had been swept away in the disaster.

Kesh touched Mr Rathod’s shoulder reassuringly, “We will build a new school. We will figure out where the children can have their lessons in the meantime. Don’t worry, Mr Rathod, everything will be okay eventually.”

“When we have you with us, Hrishikesh bhaiyya, what can go wrong? Why should we worry?” answered Mr Rathod, with a relieved smile.

 

                                                                                ***

Meera and Sonali came up to the men, while they were having lunch at the marriage hall.

Meera was smiling as she said to Kesh, “Bhaiyya, we managed to contact Subin’s relatives. We spoke to his father’s brother some time ago. He is from Ahmedabad. Subin had come with his family for the Char Dham Yatra. Of course, we don’t know what happened to his parents and sister. He says they had gone for a walk to see the crazed river, when everything happened suddenly. He only remembers clutching to the bridge, when you came and saved him…..Anyway, his uncle is coming to get him. He should be here by tomorrow.”

Sonali chipped in, “We have managed to locate the family members for most of the children except Manjula.”

Uddhav said, “Hrishikesh, if it is alright with you, Meera and I would like to look after Manjula while we keep looking for her relatives. She says she is from a village near Gaurikund, her father was a pitthuwala. I have sent two men from Harsil with as much detail as she could give us to search for her family. Let us wait and see.”

Kesh nodded, “Yes, I think Meera would be the right person to look after her right now. If we can’t find her family, we will work something out, I’m sure.”

 

                                                                                ***

“I must take your leave, Kesh,” said Mycroft, slightly inclining his head, tone warm and gracious. “Sherlock and I will go to your house, pick up my suitcases and Vedant will drop us to the helipad. I have arranged for a chopper to take me to Dehradun airport and have connecting flights all the way to London. I am sorry I cannot stay for longer, but there are many commitments that await my attention….. I cannot begin to describe how deeply pleased I have been to meet you.”

Kesh smiled as he stepped forward, “The pleasure and privilege is all mine, Mycroft. Hopefully we will meet again, soon.” The two men hugged each other and then shook hands.

Turning to Uddhav, Mycroft said, “Uddhav, thank you for everything you did to help find my brother. If I may extend an invitation? It would please me enormously if you and your charming wife consider visiting me in London. I would love to show you around.”

Uddhav smiled, “Thank you. Let us all wait and see what God has in store for us.” They shook hands and exchanged good byes again before leaving.

 

                                                                                ***

Sherlock stood next to the bed in the second floor bedroom, folding Mycroft’s clothes and packing them into the suitcase. Mycroft had just gone to take a shower prior to departure.

Sherlock looked up as a timid knock sounded on the open door. Meera stood there, an envelope in her hand, eyes wide with diffidence, expression nervous.

Sherlock gave a small smile as he said, “Come in, Meera. How can I help you?”

She advanced into the room and stood a few feet away, her hand extending the envelope to Sherlock wordlessly. He quirked one eyebrow inquiringly as he accepted it. Opening it, he removed a page from within— a one way Business Class, e-ticket for his British Airways flight to London in three days.

He stared at the ticket, frowning.

“Sherlock Sir…” Meera said in a hesitant voice. She paused as Sherlock looked up at her, eyes narrowed as they flicked over her face.

Her nervousness increased. Taking a deep breath, she repeated, “Sherlock Sir.....please, I have something to say.”

Sherlock dipped his head courteously, waving towards a chair. “Have a seat, Meera. What’s on your mind?”

Her fingers twisted the border of her sari nervously as she seemed to be searching for the courage to speak. She found it hard to stand still under Sherlock’s penetrating focused gaze. She looked at the floor, her eyes darting around. Finally she took a deep breath, her expression determined.

“Sherlock Sir, I am aware I am not qualified enough to speak to you. I am a simple, uneducated village girl. And Uddhav says you are the most intelligent man in the whole world….” She stole a quick glance at Sherlock before looking down again, “More than that…… you are the man that Hrishikesh bhaiyya loves. Bhaiyya is the greatest man alive. It makes me shiver…..it makes me nervous to think that I am daring to talk about such things to the man _he_ loves. Forgive my boldness, Sherlock Sir.”

She stole another quick glance to meet the verdigris eyes narrowed like a laser beam set on her.

Sherlock's gaze softened as he observed the slight tremor in her hands as she clutched the borders of her sari, the pulse-point fluttering wildly in her neck, her teeth as they bit into her lower lip. He gave her an encouraging nod, silently asking her to continue.

She said haltingly, “Sherlock Sir, I know it is not my place to say this, but….. Uddhav said the last time you left, Hrishikesh bhaiyya was very sad, he stopped talking….. he is a good man, a great man…… please Sir, can you consider staying here with him or taking him with you to London? I am sure he will make you happy……. Bhaiyya makes _everyone_ happy…. he is a good man….. he will not be a bother, I’m sure he won’t get in your way…… I'm sure you won’t regret it, Sherlock Sir….”

Her voice rose in the effort to convince him. She stepped forward and stood in front of Sherlock, palms folded in front of her chest as she begged, “Please….. please, Sherlock Sir, do not reject my brother’s love…”

Sherlock watched incredulously as the young woman dropped to her knees with a bowed head, as soft feminine hands touched his bare feet and as Meera pleaded, “Please Sir, I beg you, do not reject my brother….” He stood still like a statue, eyes staring in wonder at the picture of total submission at his feet. It was a few seconds before he shook his head as he emerged from his daze. He raised his right hand and put it gently on her head, his voice husky with emotion “Meera….”

His deep voice seemed to break some kind of spell. Meera slowly stood up and stared at Sherlock. She looked stricken, her eyes slowly widened in panic as she realized how much she'd overstepped. Her voice was a shocked whisper, “Sorry, I’m so sorry, Sherlock Sir….it is not my place…..  it was just an impulse. Please don’t tell Uddhav……I beg you, please don’t tell Bhaiyya. I’m so sorry…..” Her hand came up to cover her mouth, a desperate attempt to stop talking. She ran out of the room.

 

                                                                                ***

 

Mycroft emerged from the bathroom ten minutes later to find Sherlock standing out on the terrace, his face contemplative as he gazed at the mountains. He raised his eyebrows as he saw the flight tickets on the bed, fluttering in the wind.

He dressed quickly and joined Sherlock outside. He sat on the divan to wear his socks, as Sherlock remained silent. Mycroft leaned back on the divan, waiting, watchful.

After several moments, Sherlock spoke, his voice soft, reflective.

“I came here a year ago, in a poor condition, both physically and mentally. I had been on the run for close to two years. I was tired, I was homesick, I missed London, John, my old life. I felt like I was chasing ghosts; Moriarty’s web was so vast and so intricate. I did not know what awaited me upon my return to London. I had hoped that John would fall into my arms with love, with gratitude. After all, I had risked _everything_ for him. Given up the _Work_. Given up London.”

Sherlock turned to face Mycroft, eyes gone soft in reminiscence.

“Kesh…… I kept nothing from Kesh. Told him everything. Even then, something in me trusted him completely…… It was obvious straightaway that he had fallen in love, _hard_ ……obvious that he desired me, he would have done anything for me. I was tempted….. to _take_. It had been so long. I needed the affirmation he could provide, that I was worth something. He tended to me with devotion, healed me physically and mentally. We used to talk for hours, as if we had known each other for years. He knew his place in my life….. he did not stop me from leaving.”

Sherlock spread his arms, “Mycroft, for one whole year, he waited….. in silence, he _never_ attempted to contact me….He is a man of means and yet he never chose to come to London, to ask for my friendship, my regard. Just lived with his love…… and waited in hope.”

Mycroft sat still, his head tilted slightly, as he listened quietly.

Sherlock turned back to the wide beautiful panorama in front of him. His voice was soft, as though he were speaking to himself, “I came to him again. Kesh is the one person I thought of when I felt things could not continue the way they were…… I was struggling in London. John had emphatically _not_ fallen into my arms. I did not matter to him as much as I had hoped....a friend who provided him with excitement, one among many new friends. He had grieved for some time and then found himself a new love. Mycroft, he did not _once_ ask me what happened in the two years I was away. So preoccupied was he with his own righteous fury at a perceived betrayal of his trust that he did not _see_ anything. I had slid down in his list of priorities- he got married, about to have a baby, in love with the dream of a house in suburbia and a picket fence. I was a side-show, someone he turned to when things got tedious, he tolerated me as long as I fit into his life.”

Sherlock hung his head as he confessed in a quiet tone. "It was hard. Hard to deal with the realization that he was not as invested as I was in our relationship." He snorted at his own words, "Or to come to terms with the fact that there was no relationship, just a delusion in my head."

Mycroft swallowed and stared, as always finding himself _hating_ even the thought of Sherlock unhappy in any way. _Oh, brother mine....._

Sherlock turned and walked towards Mycroft. He sat on the ground in front of his brother, one hand on Mycroft’s  knee, his face eager to share as he looked up.

“Within two days of my coming to India, I told Kesh everything. It was as though I could not hide anything from him. It was obvious he was still in  love with me, he made no attempt to pretend otherwise. It would have been so easy for him, to respond with a superfluous pseudo-validation using some form of psychological drivel. And then present _himself_ as an alternative. But Kesh didn’t do that…….. he reached inside me and _pulled out_ the grief, the anger, the frustration that had grown such deep roots in my psyche. He did it mercilessly, fundamentally, completely. He shook me up.....He was aware that he could lose me forever, that I may resent his words and leave, never to return. But he has _never_ wavered from what was good for me, what was in my best interests. He consistently put me above his needs, his emotions. He asked for nothing, _ever_.”

Mycroft leaned forward, his hand gentle as it stroked Sherlock's hair.

Sherlock leaned into the loving touch. “I _feasted_ ….. like a  starved man feasts upon finding sustenance. I used his love to make myself whole again. To regain my self-worth, my pride, my peace of mind, myself. I used his body to enjoy the gratification I had denied myself for so long. I used the knowledge of his unflinching acceptance of me to find myself again. I had come to feel very deeply for him. But it was all still for _me_.”

Sherlock looked down for a while and sighed. His tone was quiet as he looked up again. “And then, Kedarnath happened. We never told you…. Kesh almost died.”

Mycroft’s fingers halted, his gaze sharpened.

Sherlock nodded. “Yes, Mycroft….. he was literally dangling over the raging river, holding a worn out branch. I almost lost him……. And suddenly, I realized that while I might not need him for life to continue, I had no desire to live a life without him. That I loved him….. without need, without reservation, from the fullness of myself. That he was the one, the only one. That I would like nothing more than to spend my life with him, loving him as he deserved to be loved. That just as he was _my Kesh_ , I wanted to be _his Sherlock_ , forever his.”

Sherlock smiled, “Mycroft, Kesh once explained to me the difference between love and attachment. He said _Love blossoms and surges forth, regardless of what the other person feels or where he is. First you have to be a complete person and only then you can love another. When you need another to complete you, it is not love._ I understand now what he meant because that is the love I feel. He exists, he has come into my life, he is magnificent. And when I look at him, love pours out. My heart sings. I feel like I have come home. It really is as simple as that!”

Mycroft’s lips trembled with emotion as he tried to clear the sudden lump in his throat. Unable to help himself he pulled Sherlock into his arms, a fierce surge of relief and delight coursing through his body.

He mumbled against Sherlock’s hair as he held him close, “Tell him that, Sherlock. That amazing, patient man has waited for so long. He loves you so much. _Please_ tell him that, baby brother. No one deserves you more. There could not be a better mate for you. I had hoped and prayed. _Tell him_ that.....” He choked out a cry of joy.

Sherlock smiled against Mycroft’s chest as he murmured softly, “I will, Mycroft….. I will tell him. Tonight.”

                                                                                                                                To be continued………..


	18. Yoga- Union

Sherlock swayed with his eyes closed, his violin tucked under his chin even as his fingers moved to create music.

It was a beautiful moonlit night, a gentle breeze caused his blue silk robe to flutter behind him as his bare feet moved in a gentle rhythm on the marble floor of the terrace. Light from the bedroom poured out and along with the moonlight caused a soft light to envelop his form.

He thought about Kesh as he played, a soft smile on his lips as love seemed to pour directly from his heart into the music. He had always considered his violin, his music as an extension of himself, the one thing he could trust to translate his innermost thoughts into pure expression, without the filter of words. His smile grew, as he recognized the beauty of his own melody, effortlessly translating all that he wanted to say to Kesh.

But Kesh wasn’t here yet.

So Sherlock played, waiting for his love to arrive. The man in whose infinitely strong hands, safe hands, loving hands, he meant to hand over his heart tonight.

 _I love you, Kesh. I am your Sherlock_. The complex tune sang out the words in joy, in anticipation, in love.

 

                                                                                ***

The car swerved around the rough road from Rudraprayag to Kesh’s house as it climbed. Vedant’s expert driving made it a far less uncomfortable ride that it could have been, the rains having further eroded the road littered with potholes and broken rocks. It was nine in the night. Having organized many things to help the stranded survivors and said an emotional farewell to young Subin, Kesh was on his way home.

He sat quietly in the back seat, eyes closed. Vedant, used to his master’s silences after so many years of working for him, was quiet too. He took care to drive at a steady pace, avoiding any need to use the brakes or swerving too much; he did not want his Hrishikesh bhaiyya to be disturbed.

Kesh let his mind wander, giving his busy brain a break.

_Mycroft would have left this afternoon…I should have gone to drop him, he might think it was rude of me not to have done so….. no, he won’t. He is like Sherlock, a breathtaking combination of amazing intelligence and perceptiveness. What a subtle but forceful personality he has….. how much he loves his brother. He was as I imagined he would be…. How did their parents cope? Not one, but two geniuses in the house…. I wish I had the opportunity to spend more time with him……. How very like Sherlock he was, one does not need to spell anything out to those two….. Sherlock….. I love him so much. The more time I spend with him, the more in awe of him I am….. and it appears I am not alone, even Mycroft is in awe of him. He called him a supernova….Mycroft is not a man given to fanciful speech…. Sherlock._

They were nearing the house. Vedant’s ever cheerful voice interrupted Kesh’s thoughts, “Hrishikesh bhaiyya, do you want me to stay at your house tonight? Just in case Sherlock Sir or you need anything? Sonali has gone home with the children. I could make tea and breakfast for you in the morning.”

“No, Vedant, that is not necessary. You go home and help Sonali. Did you get money from Uddhav today? I don’t want any expense spared in looking after the children and all the other people under our care.”

“Yes, bhaiyya. Uddhav bhaiyya gave us plenty of money. Tomorrow Partha and I will go and buy more food, and we need some new clothes for the children and the elder folk as well. I'm sorry there were only some leftovers to bring home for Sherlock Sir.”

Kesh shook his head. “That’s alright, Vedant. Sherlock does not bother about these things." He fell silent again. His mind wandered back to Sherlock.

_Sherlock…. I love him so much…. I want to be close to him tonight. Want him to have me, take his pleasure in me, own me….. want him inside me, filling me…. Oh God, it feels so good, so intense….. his soft lips, his smell, his voice….. the way his voice rumbles, like shock waves going through my body….For sure God must have a voice just like his…. want to hold him and never let him go…. want to drown in those beautiful eyes, melt in his arms, just merge with him…. He will be gone in three days…. He hasn’t said that he wants me to go with him, hasn't even said that I can go to London to visit him…. What if he does not want me in his life anymore? What if he goes back and lives his life without me….. what if he sees John and starts loving him again….. that is okay...as long as he is happy, I can deal with it, but it is going to be so difficult after having been with him for so long….. I will deal with it……but if my love is true, it will pull him back to me …. It must…. I hope…… I love him so much….._

The car turned in the driveway of the house. Kesh got off, carrying the small packed parcel of some rice, dal and potato curry. He waved goodbye to Vedant and walked in.

 

                                                                                ***

Sherlock smiled as he heard the car leave. The front door opened and closed. He was well aware that Kesh will come up straightaway pulled by the sounds of his violin. He turned to face the bedroom door that opened out into the terrace. His keen ears heard the footsteps up the stairs, now walking into the terrace.

He smiled and played on, eyes closed, body swaying, trying to transform his feelings into music, the _sentiment_ which he had always hated but which right now was coursing through him with an unfathomable force, a force of love so deep and profound that he shook with it…..

_Please, Kesh. Understand what I am playing, what I am desperately attempting to say. …. I am an articulate man, a master of language. But I don’t feel equal to this task…… I tremble at even contemplating the herculean effort involved into translating the depth of my love, this sublime emotion that courses through me, into words. It seems impossible…. please understand, please hear me, my Kesh...there is no better listener in this world than you. So listen to me… I love you, I have never loved another as I love you. Have my heart, my soul, make it yours…… Can you hear me, Kesh? My Kesh….._

Kesh stood transfixed. He watched at the most beautiful man he knew, listening to the most beautiful sounds he had ever heard in his life. He did not understand music but there was something almost mystical about it, like it was pulling him, saying something. There was joy and love and exuberance and tenderness.

_Just look at him, so stunning, so perfect…. I cannot believe he is possible….. Sherlock… the love of my life…… this music…. how can it be so divine….. maybe he is divine…… how is he possible….._

The music slowed, the melody ended as if something were left unsaid. Kesh watched quietly as Sherlock stilled and finally opened his eyes. The crystalline blue-grey irises glistened with an indescribable softness as they looked at Kesh.  Sherlock silently bent down and put the violin gently on the divan. He neared Kesh and stood facing him, wordlessly. The silence was heavy with meaning as they gazed at each other.

Kesh looking unblinkingly as though drowning in Sherlock's eyes, Sherlock looking thoughtful as he tried to find the right words, adequate words.

Finally Sherlock held up his hands as if to show Kesh. His voice was husky, “Look at my hands, Kesh. I’ve been playing for two hours. Trying to talk with music, trying to come up with the right words to say.”

Sherlock fell silent again eyes darting as he scanned his vocabulary as if searching for words. Kesh went alert, his expression one of acceptance, as he waited.

Sherlock continued in the hushed silence of the night. “I have made mistake after mistake in my deliberations for some time now, Kesh. I thought I should go back to London and stay there for some time. To see if I forgot you or whether I missed you or needed you...To figure out how important you are to me, how vital....to ensure that what I feel is not a delusion brought about by proximity and need. I thought London was my home and being with you meant I was away from home. I thought I had to choose. My old life or you. London or India.”

Sherlock shook his head, voice subdued as he confessed, ‘Stupid… _stupid_... I was a fool, Kesh. _YOU_ are my home. As long as you are with me, any place is home. With you, no matter where I am, I’m always home.”

Sherlock spread his arms with emphasis, raw emotion making even the baritone tremble, “I kept asking myself this. _Kesh, who are you_? Forgive me for with all my intellect I failed to see what should have been patently evident. You are my friend, you are my life, my love. You are the one for whom my heart beats,” Sherlock’s voice broke, eyes swimming with tears. A tear escaped from one eye, perched like a simmering pearl drop over the sheer cliff of his cheekbone, only to lose the fight and fall to the ground. His eyes shone with a silver grey light, the intense love in them like an elemental force that reached out to Kesh, enfolding him in it's warm embrace with the potency of a tidal wave.

Kesh stood spellbound and overwhelmed, his own eyes shining with tears. Every word that Sherlock spoke, every breath in and out of Sherlock’s body, every tear that fell from Sherlock’s eyes was as though applying a soothing balm over his yearning heart……. All the hours, days, months spent in waiting with hope for _this one moment_ ……

He watched, stunned, as Sherlock slowly, _deliberately_ went down on his knees. He gently picked up Kesh’s right hand and buried his face in the palm, bathing the hand with tears as he struggled to regain his composure.

Finally, still holding Kesh's hand he looked up, a look of joy, triumph on his face. His deep voice resonated with dignity and gravitas as he rumbled, “I do understand now. Forgive me, my Kesh. For causing you pain through my obtuse, ignorant stance. You told me once that you did not want a relationship with me. Relationships are _relative_ , you said. With me you wanted _unity_ , if I chose to gift it to you…… I do so choose. I love you, Kesh. I am _your Sherlock_ , just as you are my Kesh. Will you do me the honour of spending the rest of your life with me? Will you accept my heart, my body, my soul, my entire being and claim it for your own?”

Sherlock held Kesh's eyes for a few moments and then bent his head to rest it against Kesh's thigh, one hand clutching the fabric of Kesh's trousers, panting as though he'd run a mile, awaiting Kesh's reaction.

Kesh looked down, taking his fill of the vision of Sherlock Holmes waiting on his knees, after having said words that he had dared not dream of. He closed his eyes, tears spilling out, shaking with reaction as he tried to hold his body and soul together, feeling as though he would fly apart as there just wasn't enough room to hold the joy, the elation, the love that was surging through him. He swayed on his feet as he tried to gain some control over his pounding heart, his erratic breaths. His hand trembled as he laid it gently on Sherlock's head and stroked it.

_I want to die right now, at this very minute. There is nothing else left to achieve in this life….Sherlock loves me, he wants me to share his life with him….. Sherlock’s heart, the most priceless, unattainable thing in this universe……he has gifted it to me. What more is there in life? Sherlock loves me……_

He wordlessly pulled Sherlock up. Time seemed to stand still as they stood close looking at each other; no longer two people, but one; One heart, one soul, one being. Kesh stepped in to embrace his Sherlock. He could not stop the choked sob that escaped him as he felt a strong hand cradle his head, tangle in his hair as other slipped around his waist to pull him close. Both friends thought at the same time-- “ _HOME_.” They stood in silence, wrapped in each other, hearts beating together, neither wanting to disturb the beauty and perfection of this moment in their lives.

Finally, Sherlock murmured against Kesh’s ear, “Take me to bed, Kesh.”

Kesh tightened his arms around Sherlock as he nodded, “Yes…..yes.” He bent down to pick up Sherlock’s hand and held it against his cheek, his voice shaky with emotion, “I love you…… love you so much……yes please, Sherlock.”

 

                                                                                ***

The warm glow of the bedside lamp spread an intimate glow in Kesh’s bedroom.

Sherlock stood in the middle of the room, his legs slightly spread, looking down with desire laced eyes, his fingers tangled in Kesh’s long hair. "So good...yes, just like that, Kesh….”

Kesh was on his knees, his wet eager mouth sucking Sherlock's hardness, tongue swirling around to lick the slit each time he withdrew. His hands rested gently on that plush ass, pulling Sherlock closer as his head bobbed. He withdrew completely to bury his face in the tight curls, nostrils flaring as he inhaled Sherlock's arousal. Sherlock's hands tightened around the black curls. "Please....more..." Soft moans and sighs of pleasure were falling like a continuous decadent stream from his mouth, as he savoured the gentle suction every time he sank in. “Kesh….. so good……that feels good.”

He spread his legs some more, tightening his hands on Kesh’s head. His head fell back as his hips moved in rhythm with Kesh's bobbing. “You’ve become _very_ good at this, Kesh…..” He gave himself up to sensation, until he felt the telltale buildup of pressure in his pelvis. “Stop, Kesh…… stop.”

He pulled out completely, gasping as he tried to control himself. He pulled Kesh up, his lips ravenous as they fell on Kesh, his big palms cupping that beloved face, hot breath fanning over Kesh's lips as he nuzzled and suckled.

“Not like this, not tonight….. On the bed, Kesh.”

He lay down in bed, pulling Kesh down with him until he was sprawled over Sherlock's body. He looked up at the overwhelming love, the familiar awe in Kesh's eyes. "Show me, Kesh. How much you love me. Make love to me," he murmured, his hands gently stroking Kesh's sides, a tender smile on his face.

Kesh smiled as he bent down to kiss Sherlock's lips, “I love you, Sherlock. More than anything else in this world, more than my life.” His lips and hands were gentle, reverent as they caressed Sherlock’s heated frame. Soft lips paid homage to every inch of his beautiful body, worshipping eyes watched Sherlock as he writhed and moaned with pleasure. Teeth nibbled at Sherlock’s nipples, hands kneaded his ass, lips kissed and sucked the delicate skin of his groin, a wet tongue licked Sherlock’s neck, hot breaths caressed the dewy soft skin, as Kesh valiantly attempted to transform his boundless adoration and love into a physical act. Sherlock's body undulated under Kesh's, his moans filled with need, with steadily increasing desperation. Kesh's hand strayed down to stroke Sherlock's engorged aching cock, to cup the full sac.

A litany of endearments, words whispered in awe, with love fell steadily from his lips. “I love you….. I love you, Sherlock.” 

Sherlock felt like he was unraveling, floating as his hips bucked up of their own accord, his back arched, and a steady stream of “Kesh… Please, Kesh…. Oh God, Kesh….. love you……just there…… Yes, just like that…… more please....” escaped his mouth. He surrendered completely to the slow reverent exploration, his eyes dreamy as they tracked each movement, his mouth slack with pleasure. No filters, no pretense, no barriers.. just him and his Kesh…..

Finally, reluctantly Kesh stopped and got up. He stepped into the bathroom and came back with a small bottle of lube. He lied down next to Sherlock as he placed the lube in Sherlock's hand. “I still can’t believe I am allowed this…… To touch you wherever I want, kiss you, hold you. I still feel it is a dream, brought about by my desperate love for you. I was thinking on my way home today, that I have just three more days with you, you will leave…… this bed, this room, this house, my life would become empty.” His eyes glistened as he stroked Sherlock's hair.

Sherlock said in a quiet voice, “I am sorry, Kesh. Please forgive me.” He gently pulled Kesh’s hand towards him and bent forward to kiss the palm softly. “I love you, Kesh,” he said as he pressed the tube into Kesh’s palm.

Kesh frowned and looked at Sherlock, eyes questioning.

Answering the unasked question, Sherlock leaned back, his voice hesitant. “Tonight _you,_ Kesh. I want you inside me.”

He flushed as he settled his head back on the pillow, “Kesh…… I…I haven’t done, I don’t really have any experience in receiving…." He broke off and took a deep breath. "A long time ago, I did try with someone. He was very keen and he did try to do the right things, but I….. I pushed him away as he tried to get the head of his cock in. I ….. it felt too intrusive, like I wasn’t in control and I _hate_ not being in control…..I _couldn’t_ , Kesh. I ….. I haven’t tried since then.” He looked at Kesh, those loving eyes and took another deep breath. “But tonight, Kesh please, I _need,_ I want so badly, to be yours….. please, Kesh…..”

He broke off, confident that Kesh would understand.

Kesh looked down at his friend’s flushed face, flushed with both arousal and embarrassment, he looked at the lube in wonder and shook his head, “No Sherlock. You never have to do this.…. what you have given me, your love, your friendship, that is already more than I dreamed of…. More than I deserve.”

Sherlock snorted. “Don’t mistake my embarrassment for hesitation, Kesh. The embarrassment is for my lack of experience in this area and a best forgotten episode of my wild years. But why would I be embarrassed to offer this to you? To ask this of you? I _want_ it, want to feel you moving inside me, want to know what it feels like when you claim me, when you come inside me…..” He ran a gentle finger over Kesh’s moist lips, “I _want_ to lose control to the man whom I trust more than myself. Whom I love...."

His lips curved into a smile, "I want what you had asked from me once… _you on top, I want you above me, in me, around me, everywhere…._ ” He pulled up Kesh’s hand and squirted lube on his fingers as he whispered, “ _Please_ Kesh….”

Kesh stroked his hair with his other hand, kissing Sherlock’s temple as he said quietly, “Sherlock, I want you to never utter the word ‘please’ to me. _Demand_ anything from me that it is my power to give. _Command_ me, I am yours, _order_ me. Never ask, never say please. I _hate_ to hear that word come out of your mouth.” He bent down to kiss Sherlock gently, “I love you.”

He gazed in wonder at the vision before him.

Sherlock Holmes lay naked on his bed, miles of fair skin that were marred by three day old scratches and cuts, the most beautiful eyes in the world looked at him with love and trust, the irises barely a thin curtain around wide pupils, the bent legs spread wide as though he were offering himself, the proud hard erection bobbing up from the tight black curls. One hand pulled Kesh closer, the other curled into a restless fist around the bedsheet, the gentle puffs of breath leaving moist panting lips, the chest rising and falling as Sherlock looked at Kesh expectantly.

Kesh turned his eyes back to Sherlock. _When did I earn this? How did I get so lucky?_ He slicked his fingers with the lube. His lips placed reassuring kisses all over Sherlock’s face as his fingers slid gently into Sherlock's cleft. He kissed Sherlock's forehead, his fingers swirled softly around the anus, massaging with steady sure pressure. “I love you,” he whispered, touching Sherlock’s forehead to his, eyes locked in with Sherlock’s, as finally he penetrated with one finger. He felt it, the tight sphincter initially gripping his finger, then relaxing as Sherlock let go completely, eyes looking up at him with all the love and trust in the world.

Sherlock's lips parted and his back arched. “Kesh….” Sherlock moaned as Kesh found his prostate and stroked it with gentle confident strokes, murmuring, “Love you… love you, Sherlock.”

He held Sherlock close, kissing him, reassuring him, as he prepared him gently, taking his time.

“Kesh….. I need you… Kesh….” Sherlock keened as the sensation of fullness with three fingers and the exquisite stimulation of his prostate became too much. Sweat glistened on his forehead, as he pleaded, “Kesh…… _now,_ Kesh….” his head thrashed helplessly on the pillow as his clenched fists whitened against the sheets. Kesh prepared himself quickly, without leaving Sherlock for a second, even as he groaned from the feel of his own hands against his aching length. He adjusted himself between Sherlock’s spread legs.They both looked at each other, holding their breaths as his cock nudged against Sherlock’s entrance.

Kesh looked hesitant.

“I love you, Sherlock…… please don’t…. I won’t be able to bear it if I hurt you even a little bit. _Please_ just this once, don’t be stubborn. _Tell_ me if you’re uncomfortable. I’ll stop straight away,” he pleaded. Sherlock gave a short laugh, his voice rang with confidence. “Kesh, you could never hurt me, you were _born_ to take my pain away…”

Kesh cradled that precious head and held it as he started sliding in gently. Sherlock eyes widened as he felt his Kesh’s flesh enter him, the thick cock stretching him, _no pain, only joy, as if bliss itself is entering me_.

When he was fully sheathed, they looked at each other, wonder and joy and love and trust fighting for primacy in their expressions, _where does one end and where does the other one begin_ , thought Kesh. He brought their foreheads together as he murmured in Sherlock’s mouth, “Alright, Sherlock? Are you alright?” he asked anxiously. A stunned Sherlock nodded as he panted, “Yes, yes…Oh God, yes, Kesh….you’re inside me….. it feels so good…...Kesh….”

Cupping both palms around that beloved face, Kesh licked the tears falling from Sherlock’s eyes, his own wet with joy. There was hushed disbelief in his voice, “Mine?”

Sherlock laughed with joy as he said, “Yours, Kesh. Forever yours. Only yours.”

Kesh groaned aloud, as burying his face into the nape of Sherlock’s neck he began to move. “Feels so good, Sherlock, I never knew…Like heaven, so tight…You’re so hot inside. I’m inside you, Sherlock……How did I earn this…… I love you so much.”

Sherlock spread his legs wider, lifting them off the bed to tilt his hips drawing Kesh in deeper. He panted,“Yes…. God Kesh…..yes.” With each draw-back and plunge-in they gasped; drawn by some primal impulse, Sherlock found himself wrapping his long legs around Kesh’s torso. They moved, joined and connected with each other, staring into each other’s disbelieving eyes, taking their pleasure, their bodies making a feeble attempt to declare their love, souls fused into one being. The sounds of moans and gasping breath and “I love you…… so good… don’t stop……. Yes…yes….. right there……Oh God……don’t ever stop…..love you…..” rapturously filled the room and traveled outside the open French windows to reverberate into the night.

Sherlock bucked and shivered, sweat dripping from his brow as Kesh enveloped him, held him close. Kesh looked wrecked as he felt Sherlock’s warmth engulf him and watched Sherlock come apart underneath him.

“Kesh…. harder, Kesh….. need…..I need more…..” Sherlock begged without inhibition, voice hoarse with exertion and desperation. “Kesh, you must move, harder……faster……. Don’t tease me..”

Kesh leaned both his hands over the head board for leverage and watched his cock piston in and out of Sherlock, eyes gone wild with desire. Sherlock fingernails gouged deep scratches to Kesh’s sides as each plunge hammered into his sweet spot and the pressure in his pelvis built up, his balls drawing up. His hips rose helplessly in rhythm with Kesh’s plunges, adding the sounds of slapping flesh to the desperate gasps from Kesh’s mouth and his own almost continuous whimpering and pleading noises. Kesh let go of the headboard, as he braced himself on one outstretched hand and with the other he held Sherlock’s cock. He spread the wetness and began to stroke in rhythm with his thrusts.

Sherlock was almost sobbing, as the twin sensations of prostate stimulation with intense fullness and the stroking of his engorged almost purple cock became too much. His hands covered his face, his head thrashed on the pillow as he pleaded, voice husky with need, urgency. “Kesh….. Tell me what to do….I think I’m going to die….. I’ve never felt like this before. It’s too much….. help me.” Bending down to kiss Sherlock’s hands Kesh gasped, “I’ve got you, Sherlock…..let go…. come for me, my love." He plunged and retreated with long deep strokes and pumped Sherlock’s cock with firm, twisting movements.

“KESH….” The loud triumphant cry echoed in the empty house as Sherlock arched and came, he pulsed and pulsed in Kesh’s hands, long white streaks of come splattering all over, his anus clenching rhythmically around Kesh’s cock. He forgot to breathe as he felt Kesh push in deep. “Sherlock….Oh my God……” and felt Kesh's warm release flood inside him.

Chests heaving, they looked at each other, stunned. Sherlock started to shake uncontrollably, as with a loud gasp he started breathing again, like a long submerged person who's just surfaced. " _What_ did you do to me, Kesh?”

Panicking at the sight of a violently shivering Sherlock, Kesh slipped out of him quickly and gathered his trembling body to hold him close, tightening his arms around the curled body, kissing his face all over. “It’s okay, Sherlock….. I’ve got you…… I’m sorry I lost control….. it just felt so good….. please, Sherlock....please forgive me. Please be okay.... Sherlock, _please_ ….I’ll _never_ touch you again, never kiss you again, I promise…. Just be okay…. Please, Sherlock _tell_ me I haven’t hurt you….I’m sorry…… _what have I done_ …… ”

Sherlock shook the head buried into Kesh's chest, his arms tightening around Kesh's body, soaking in the endearments, the reassurances. It was a few moments later that he pulled back to look into Kesh's anxious eyes, his hand coming up to cup Kesh's cheek gently. “Kesh, my Kesh, you did not hurt me. It is just….. it was the most intense orgasm of my life. I’ve never felt any sensation this intensely _ever_ ….. I never knew it could be like this.” He rubbed his thumb over Kesh’s tears, smiling softly, reassuringly at the guilt ridden face.

It was a while before he got his breathing back under control. He bit his lip as he smiled. "You, my love, were _fantastic_.”

He smiled as he rubbed noses with Kesh and placed soft kisses on his mouth. Kesh smiled back, as he buried his face in Sherlock’s chest shyly.

 

                                                                                                ***

                                                               

Sherlock sat on the bed, back resting against the headboard, legs bent at the knees and spread apart, his arms around Kesh.  Kesh sat between his legs, body curled up against Sherlock’s chest, face upturned as Sherlock kissed him softly. Gentle hands cupped Kesh’s face as Sherlock smiled and murmured against the corner of his mouth, “Love you, Kesh.”

Kesh’s hands stroked Sherlock’s hair, moved over his chest as he sighed into the kisses, feeling drugged and happy.  “I don’t want this night to end, Sherlock. Just want to stay like this for the rest of my life,” he whispered against Sherlock’s lips.

_Earlier they had gone downstairs, starving and thirsty after their exertion, to share a simple meal of leftovers. Kesh filled Sherlock in about the events of the day. And then they showered together, lazily cleaning each other, as theykissed and smiled and touched. _

Now they sat on the bed, dressed in their night clothes, bodies entwined; Sherlock nuzzled the nape of Kesh’s neck, “My Kesh…..just mine.” He reluctantly straightened up after a while and looked at Kesh.  Holding Kesh’s hand, he kissed it with love, with tenderness. "What now, Kesh? What would you like to see happen? Would you like me to live here with you? Would you like to come to London with me?”

“Whatever you want, Sherlock. I am happy as long as you are happy,” answered Kesh.

Sherlock shook his head emphatically. “No…. no, I’m not making the same mistake again. You decide Kesh. I know whatever you say will be for the best.”

Kesh was quiet as he thought for a while, a small frown on his forehead.

He said slowly, “You should go back to London. I’ll join you in a few weeks. I’ll speak to Uddhav and set up for things to continue in my absence. It will take some time. Maybe a month. Sherlock, _a lot_ of people depend on me for their livelihood. I need to make sure that no one suffers because of me leaving. Uddhav is capable of handling things but we will need to discuss logistics and put them in motion. We will need to talk to a lot of people; the factories and their managers, the cooperatives, the schools, hospitals. Not to mention all the survivors, who are depending on us to get them home or help them build new lives here……”

“Your work is important, Kesh. If you prefer I could stay here with you.”

“No, Sherlock. The work I do here, can be done by Uddhav and others. But what you do, _only_ you can do. Besides, the world is a global village now. I can come to India every few months if needed. I can video conference with Uddhav if needed. And I have been neglecting my research and my research team for the past three months. It will be easier to go to CERN whenever required. But I want you to go back now.”

“Why? Why can’t I just stay with you and help you?” Sherlock frowned.

“Because it is _time_ ….time to go and do what you do, time to apply what you have learned, time to be without your Kesh even if for some time  and rediscover your inner strength so that you know you are complete in yourself and do not need anyone, not even Kesh….. time to realize what I know so well--You are magnificent, you are _perfection_.”

Sherlock kissed Kesh’s hand again and murmured against it, “A month…… _evam astu_ , Kesh. I will wait. I will make you proud, my Kesh.”

Sherlock fell silent as he stroked Kesh’s face, his arms, holding him close. His eyes were meditative, his brow furrowed as he thought. Kesh waited patiently.

Finally he said, “Kesh, I need to talk with you about a couple of things.” Meeting Kesh’s eyes, he took a deep breath before speaking, “When I go back, it is inevitable that Lestrade will have cases for me. He will have cold cases that he would have had difficulty with as well. He will call me and John…. John is bored with his life. He will be eager to join me again. I need to know…… is it okay with you, if John comes on cases? I will find it difficult to deny him this……Kesh, he is my friend. He _needs_ this, he has always needed it. Will you be alright with it?”

Kesh looked puzzled, “Why should I not be fine with it? I don’t understand, Sherlock. Your relationship with him is between the two of you. What do I have to do with it?”

Sherlock answered quietly, “I thought you may feel jealous or resentful. I assure you, that he is just a good friend now. I have overcome my infatuation, my sexual desires…..” His eyes were wide as he looked at Kesh, asking, hoping to be understood.

Kesh smiled. “Understand this, Sherlock. I love you. I want you to be happy. Yes, I know that you never really loved John and have realized that it was attachment and desire that led to you mistake your emotions for love. But even if you were to start feeling for him again....please know, that if it makes you happy, I would want that for you too. You never have to explain anything to me, you never have to fear my reactions or doubt my commitment to you. Please know this. And please don’t deny that man of your friendship or your company, just because of me or any perceived slight to me. He is your friend. He must be a good man to be your friend.”

Sherlock stared at him for a few moments. Then shook his head, “You extraordinary man….”

He was silent again, still deep in thought.

He continued, his words halting, tentative. “Kesh, there is something else you need to know. I ….. you have seen me at my best behaviour out here in India, with you, with all your friends. But in London, when I’m working….I am told that I am at times, a bit _not good_. I lose my cool, I snap at people, I am rude. Especially when I am frustrated with a difficult case……. John…”

He looked down, embarrassed as he continued, “Even John called me a ‘ _tit_ ’and a “ _dick_ ” once, he called me a “ _machine_ ” at another time. I am difficult to live with. I am messy. I forget things that people seem to consider important. I sometimes don’t talk for days at a time, when I’m lost in my mind palace, thinking…… Kesh, what if you find it difficult to live with me? What if I am rude to you or impatient with you? I’ll _try_ Kesh. I’ll try strenuously, but it’s easy to forget other things when I’m thinking and concentrating on a case….. I don’t ever want you to regret coming to London. But it is true, I am not the same person there, as I am here. You may have fallen in love with an illusion.”

He looked up at Kesh again and waited, brows furrowed in anxiety.

“Sherlock, to judge a person by their behavior is very silly indeed. It is as immature as judging a person by their race or clothes or their bank balance. A man may be uncouth and surly but he may be a good man underneath. A man may have the most polished manners in the world and may be a rotten person underneath. There are so many factors that shape us over the years, who are we to judge anyone?”

Kesh smiled reassuringly as he continued, “As for you…….I love you. Why would I mind if you are rude or impatient with me? Who else will you show your frustration, your anger to? In fact, once I come there I insist that you take it all out on me. And you can rest assured, I will never look at how you behave. I love you, the real you, the essential Sherlock inside, that’s the one I have always loved. Don't think I don't see him. What is the point if you have to censor yourself around me, pretend to feel what you are not feeling?  It makes no sense!”

Sherlock smiled slowly as he repeated softly, “You extraordinary man.” He rubbed noses with Kesh, placing light kisses on his face, his mouth, his eyes. After a while, a deep chuckle escaped him, his eyes gleaming with mischief, “Maybe when things get difficult, I can come home and have angry sex with you…..”

Kesh’s eyes widened, “Angry sex….. is there such a thing?”

Sherlock snaked his hand down to cup Kesh’s ass and pulled him closer, he nibbled on his ear as he whispered, “Oh yes, Kesh. I can just see it….. I come home frustrated with not solving the crime or when Donovan makes me see red….. I throw you on the bed and rip your clothes off, prepare you hurriedly, spread your legs and then sink into you, taking you hard, with nary a thought for your pleasure…..Oh Kesh….”

Kesh stared, his face flushed as Sherlock’s evocative words spun a fantasy in front of him. Sherlock’s deep chuckle jerked him out of fantasy land. “Look at you, Kesh!  You like the sound of that don’t you?” Kesh buried his face into Sherlock, embarrassed, even as Sherlock kept laughing and nuzzling him and teasing him with more erotic words.

 

                                                                                ***

 

_The next day……_

Kesh bounded up Uddhav’s driveway, a spring in his step as he pounded on the door. Meera opened the door, her eyes widened with delight as she cried out, “ _Hrishikesh bhaiyya_!” She looked around desperately and called out, “Uddhav….. Mummy…… Manjula…. Mahesh….Guess who is here? Come quickly.” With a gesture of her hand, she asked Kesh to wait as she ran into the small temple adjoining the kitchen. Hurriedly she got a plate ready with sandalwood paste, red kumkum and a small lamp and essence.

With trembling hands she got the steel plate organized and ran outside to find everyone gathered around Kesh, waiting at the front door.

Lighting the lamp, she waved the plate (aarti) in a circular motion in front of him, a traditional Indian way of welcoming an esteemed guest, especially when they visit your home for the first time. Kesh looked indulgent as he waited. When Meera was finished, he smiled and said, “Meera, I have come to this house hundreds of times.” Meera retorted, “But not since I got married and started living here.” She stepped forward to touch Kesh’s feet and bending low, welcomed him inside.

Uddhav had been staring at Kesh’s jubilant expression, hope leaping in his heart. He waited impatiently for Meera to finish before blurting out, “Hrishikesh, what is it? Why this sudden visit? Please tell us.”

Kesh grinned broadly as he pulled Manjula to him and with a hand on her shoulder he declared, voice exuberant, “Uddhav, Meera, Aunty…. Sherlock has asked me to move in with him in London.” Meera let out an audible gasp as she flung herself into Kesh’s arms murmuring, “Thank you, thank you, God. Bhaiyya, I had prayed so much, there are so many rituals I promised to do if he granted this one wish! Thank you, God.”

Uddhav impatiently waited his turn and engulfed his friend in a huge embrace as soon as his arms were free. “Yes…. Yes…” he yelled out triumphantly. “YES”

They clapped hands in delight and laughed and cheered as they soaked in the vision of a love struck happy Hrishikesh, finding joy in his joy.

“Don’t worry about anything here, Hrishikesh,” Uddhav declared confidently. “Leave everything to me. I will take care of it. You go, go with your heart…. When do you leave?”

“Sherlock will leave in two days. I will wait here to sort things out and join him in about a month.”

“Why? You can go now….. do you not trust me? I will manage,” cried out Uddhav.

Putting a gentle hand on the young man’s shoulders, Kesh said, “ I trust you with everything, Uddhav. No one could be more capable. But there are other reasons. I want Sherlock to go before me. And we will have time to talk to everyone, set things up. We need to talk to all the managers, go to the survivors, still have to sort out where to build the new school…….”

They continued talking for a long time

 

                                                                                ***

 

Manjula skipped ahead of Meera as she ran out into the terrace. Sherlock was sitting with his laptop working on it. Manjula ran straight to him and waited impatiently for him to put it aside. She climbed on to his lap confidently and looked at him as he wrapped his arms around her waist.

“Sherlock uncle, Meera didi (sister) says that you are going to foreign tomorrow. And that Hrishikesh uncle will be joining you in some days.” She frowned, “Meera didi said you are the most intelligent man in this entire world. I wish you were not leaving. I wanted to study with you.” Sherlock smiled as he asked, “So what will you do now, Manjula?”

“I’m going to go to Mr Rathod’s school. He is also going to take tuitions for Meera didi to teach her to read and write. It is all settled. And at home, I’ll study with Uddhav uncle. He is very clever too.” She leaned forward conspirationally and whispered, “Don’t tell him I told you. But I think he is the second most intelligent man in the world.” Sherlock chuckled, “Is he now?”

He gently dislodged a nodding Manjula off him and walked slowly towards Meera. The young woman stared at him as he neared and then looked down nervously. He stood in front of her looking, waiting.

She seemed to be thinking furiously and stayed quiet for a while. Abruptly nodding to herself, she lifted her chin and looked up bravely to met Sherlock’s gaze. “Sherlock sir….. thank you for taking Hrishikesh bhaiyya with you. You have made all our dreams come true. But there are some things you need to know……Sir, bhaiyya is a great man but he is also a simple man. He is now _your_ responsibility. Uddhav says that he never asks anything of anyone. _You_ must learn to read what he needs, because he will never ask for it. Uddhav says when Hrishikesh bhaiyya is sad or hurt by something, he becomes very quiet. _You_ must learn to be alert and care for him when he is sad. He only knows how to give, he has spent his whole life looking after everyone…… I think God himself has sent you, so that someone can look after him. _You_ must look after him. He has no family, we all are his family. If he is homesick, don’t leave him alone….. Keep him happy, Sherlock Sir and the whole world will smile at you.”

Sherlock stood quietly listening to her injuctions, head inclined gravely. He was struck by her simple dignity and remembered again what Kesh had said about appearances. This simple young woman, who could barely write her name, had with her attitude and her selfless love for Kesh won his hard earned respect. He waited for her to finish and said quietly, “I will keep him happy, Meera. I will look after him. He is lucky to have people like you all around him who care for him so much.”

Meera snorted, “Then you don’t know anything, Sherlock Sir. It is _we_ who are lucky. It is _you_ who is lucky.”

Sherlock looked up with understanding eyes, “I am aware of this, Meera. I promise you, I will do anything it takes to make him happy.”

She stared at him for a long time, before nodding slightly with satisfaction. She smiled slowly, her face transforming as she suddenly giggled like the young girl she was. She wagged a finger, “If you don’t, I’ll come all the way to London and let you have it, Sherlock sir.” She blushed at her boldness and grabbed hold of Manjula’s hand, running out of there, still giggling.

 

                                                                                    ***

 

Sherlock was packing his clothes, leaning into the cupboard to get his suit off the hanger, when Uddhav knocked on the door. “Hello Sherlock.”

Sherlock smiled warmly, “Hello Uddhav. Come in. Please, have a seat.”

Uddhav came in and sat down on the bed. “Almost done?” he asked.

“Yes. Fortunately I like to travel light, there isn’t much stuff.” Sherlock’s narrowed eyed scanned Uddhav, as he closed the suitcase. He walked up to the desk and sat on the chair, legs outstretched, posture relaxed.

“What’s on your mind, Uddhav?” he asked gently.

Uddhav looked down at his hands for a while, then smiled up at Sherlock. “I came to say I am so happy that Hrishikesh is coming to stay with you in London. It is….. it is what he wanted. Thank you, Sherlock.”

Sherlock inclined his head slightly, as Uddhav continued, “It is very important to me that he be happy. He is everything to me.....I never told you how I met Hrishikesh….” Sherlock leaned forward, eager to hear as he waited for Uddhav to elaborate.

Uddhav stood up to stand near the open French window, looking out into the terrace, as he spoke about a distant time. “My father was a worker at this estate. But he started drinking and gambling. We lost all our possessions. My father died when I was sixteen years old, hit by a truck as he was coming home drunk. We had nowhere to go, the landlord had taken all our possessions to pay for outstanding rent and was about to evict us out of the small room we lived in. I was a good student and young….. instead of worrying about my mother, I was more focused on what would happen to my education……. Hrishikesh was barely twenty years old himself….. he heard about us through the other servants. One day, he just appeared at our doorstep. He talked to my mother and me. He said he would pay for my education, but it was subject to my studying hard and looking after my mother. He moved us into a house that he owned and bought us everything we needed. He told me that during school vacations, I was to come and work with him. He paid for our living expenses, for my educations, books, uniforms….. everything.”

Uddhav turned around to face Sherlock, “He saved me. He saved my mother. He gave me confidence, purpose, reassurance and support. Everything that I am is because of him, Sherlock….. And I am not the only one. He has helped countless other Uddhavs out there, whom you and I will never know about, because he never talks about it…….. Sherlock, he is the greatest man I know, and I am blessed to be under his care.”

He stepped closer, as he raised his hand to gesture at Sherlock, “ _You_ are blessed too. I ask that you do not forget that. Cherish him, revere him, love him the way he is meant to be….. Sherlock, when you left last time, he was so sad. I would watch him sitting alone on the terrace and I would come home every night and cry. If it would have made any difference, I would have given up my life to make him happy.”

Uddhav shrugged and said in a bewildered voice, “Providence is so strange….. it sent you back. I am not sure why you came back….. but somehow now Hrishikesh and you are together…… it is like a miracle, because just as _he_ is unique and great, so are _you_. I am a humble servant to both of you. If there is anything you need from me, anything I can do to make your life easier, smoother, better, you just have to command me.” He took a deep breath and continued, “ Please look after Hrishikesh, Sherlock. He is the strongest man I know, but somehow _you_ are his weakness, the one person in the world who can destroy him. Please take this as a serious responsibility when he comes to you. He is loved by many people over here. He has no one in London except you. It is our gift to you, that we are letting you take him away from us. _Please_ do not take it lightly.”

His voice broke as he stopped talking, overcome with emotion.

Sherlock stood up and walked towards Uddhav and put his hand on his shoulder. “Uddhav, I will….. I know who and what he is….. I love him, I will spend my life showing him that. Please, don’t worry.” He pulled Uddhav into a warm embrace as he spoke and gently held him for a while, letting Uddhav sob on his chest.

 

                                                                                ***

Mycroft pasted a polite interested look on his face as the Prime Minister droned on about the upcoming Cabinet Meeting. As the PM turned to talk to the other ministers in the conference hall, he surreptitiously removed his mobile from his coat pocket for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. He knew the message by rote since he had first read it, but was helpless in his desire to see it with his eyes again and again.

_I leave India tomorrow. Kesh is moving to London in a month. He has accepted my love, accepted me, Mycroft – SH_

He ran his fingers lovingly over each word as the politicians talked in the background.

 

                                                                                ***

 

Sherlock and Kesh stood wrapped in each other’s arms in Kesh’s bedroom. The luggage had been taken downstairs and put in the waiting car.

_Last night, they had stayed awake most of the night, talking, kissing, holding. Sherlock had made gentle love to his Kesh, learning new ways of making Kesh sob with desperation and cry with pleasure. Spent, they had slept holding the other close, as if wanting to merge into one, aware of the period of separation coming up._

Holding Kesh’s face between his palms, Sherlock kissed him, open mouthed kisses, tongue roaming in the wet warmth, as if wanting to devour the taste, the smell of his Kesh. Kesh clung to him submitting himself to every caress. Finally, aware of the passing time, Sherlock stepped back. He said, in a voice hoarse with love, “I will wait every minute of every day till you come, Kesh. It will be my penance, my offering to you. Come soon, my love.”

 

                                                                                ***

A crowd stood close to the waiting car. Uddhav, Meera, Manjula, Partha, Shankar, Sonali, Vinod, Mahesh, Vedant and many other workers. Many had tears in their eyes as they prepared to say good bye to their Sherlock Sir. Many stood mutely with their hands folded in Namaste.

Sherlock looked around, as he reflected.

_Barely three months ago, I had come here with a heavy heart looking for peace, for emotional sustenance…… this place, these people healed me…… how can I ever repay their debt……_

As Sherlock and Kesh walked towards the car Vedant stepped forward, followed by the other workers. He folded his hands in namaste and looked at Sherlock with respect and grief in his eyes.

“Sherlock sir, we all had something to say to you. Sir, it has been an honour to look after you. We all are a witness to your greatness. We all are very sad that you are leaving. We have been told that Hrishikesh bhaiyya will be joining you and staying in foreign with you…….. it is like we are losing both our masters, our guardians…. Like being orphaned. Sir, please take care of yourself, please take care of our Hrishikesh bhaiyya…… come back whenever you please, you have hundreds of homes out here, we would be happy to serve you at any time….. Hrishikesh bhaiyya is our everything…… please look after him when he comes to you…..”

Sherlock watched as a usually smiling Vedant burst into tears. Even as he raised a hand to comfort him, Kesh stepped in and held Vedant’s overcome body. “Don’t farewell Sherlock with tears, Vedant,” he chided. “You don’t look very nice when you cry. You don’t want Sherlock to remember your crying face do you?” he joked feebly, looking helplessly at Sherlock.

Sherlock stepped in to grasp Vedant’s arm silently. Vedant wiped his eyes and looked up at Sherlock hopefully and asked, “Maybe if you can’t come….. maybe we can visit you in foreign?”

The vision of unleashing a Vedant on Mrs Hudson and John and Lestrade and Molly and the unsuspecting British public flashed in front of Sherlock’s eyes suddenly, as he threw back his head and laughed and laughed, while the others looked on in bemusement. It was a while before he wiped his tears of laughter and said, “I am surely going to get you to visit us in foreign, Vedant.”

Sherlock shook hands with everyone and did Namaste and embraced Uddhav and Manjula and Mahesh. He stepped back to face Kesh as Vedant got in and started the car. He whispered in a low voice, “I will be waiting for you, Kesh.”

“I’ll be there soon, Sherlock.”

 

                                                                                To be continued………..

 AARTI

 

 


	19. Jagat- The World

 

It was past one in the morning that Sherlock cleared customs, got his luggage and re-entered his London.  Mycroft stood at the gates, arms folded across his chest, joy and relief in his eyes.

Dragging his suitcase behind him Sherlock approached him. They stood close and looked at each other for a few seconds, the razor sharp communication between their eyes rendering speech superfluous.

Finally Sherlock said, “Kesh sends his regards, Mycroft. He wishes to tell you that he is really looking forward to coming to London and seeing you again.

Mycroft took a deep breath, “No more so than I am looking forward to seeing him again, Sherlock. I had hoped to see him with you. But I suppose a month is not a long time to wait, in the larger scheme of things….Let’s get you home, baby brother. I have told Mrs Hudson not to wait up.”

 

                                                                                ***

 

“Wo-hoo!!!” Mrs Hudson’s voice echoed in the flat just as Sherlock came out of his bedroom, hair mussed, robe askew over his shoulders. He yawned loudly as he walked into the living room.

Mrs Hudson looked up at him, pleasure writ large all over her face. “Sherlock!” she said fondly, as she stepped towards him. Sherlock accepted and returned her embrace with affection and smiled.

“How are you, Mrs Hudson?” his deep voice rumbled, as he stepped towards his green armchair and took a seat, crossing his legs, looking imperiously at her as an outstretched hand accepted the cup of tea she handed him.

She took a seat on the other chair and took a deep breath as she continued smiling, running adoring eyes over his face. “Giddy as a school girl now that you are here,” she admitted clapping her hands together. “This place isn’t the same without you. It feels empty, smaller somehow. It felt a bit like when you were away for two years. Except this time of course, I knew you were well and with a friend.”

Sherlock smiled and took a sip of his tea.

“Mycroft called me yesterday to tell me you were coming,” she continued, extending a plate of biscuits towards him. “I spent all of yesterday cleaning the flat, baking, putting clean sheets, went to the shops to get milk and cookies and fill your fridge with food. I was so excited at the thought of you coming back, I could hardly contain myself!” she exclaimed.

Holding his biscuit, Sherlock said with his mouth full, “Thank you.”

“Oh don’t thank me,” she said waving her hands, as she got up to get him a napkin. “I may not be your housekeeper, but I must admit I enjoy looking after you….So tell me, where did you go exactly? Who is this friend? Tell me about him.”

Sherlock took a deep sip of his tea and observed her narrow eyed scrutiny over the rim of the cup. He put the cup down wordlessly as he searched for words. Finally he said, “Kesh. His name is Kesh.”

She looked at him thoughtfully for a while, reading into the impassivity of his blank expression and accepting his reluctance to talk. Abruptly changing the topic, she said, “John and that lovely Inspector were here in your absence. They wanted to know when you were coming back, whether I knew any more about your impromptu absence. I told them that you left without saying much. Lestrade, I think had some cases he wanted you to look at. And John…. Well, I think he was missing all the excitement. Must be a bit bored by now, him being so addicted to the thrill of working with you.”

She crossed her hands on her lap and settled back, watching Sherlock’s serene expression, polite interest without emotion. “He looked happy enough, but it can’t be _too_ exciting for him. Wife, child, clinic work…..”

Sherlock smiled mechanically and replied, “Well, I’m sure he has everything that he wanted in life.”

“Yes, well getting everything you want is not always for the best, is it? I told you marriage changes people. But it also changes life. One needs to let go of the old life and embrace the new one. You can’t have it all, you know. I don’t think he has understood that _yet_ …. Anyway, he came once again, two weeks ago. Just to have a cuppa and talk about old times, I think. He looked a bit lost without you. But then he always looks a bit lost without you. Have you told him you are back?”

“Not yet, Mrs Hudson. I will. Just wanted some quiet time to settle in,” replied Sherlock, leaning his head back against the top of his chair and closing his eyes. He sighed, a soft wistful smile on his face….. _Kesh_ …..

She watched the smile for a few seconds, then got up and started clearing the tea cups, leaving Sherlock alone. Walking back to the living room, she put a hand on his upturned forehead tenderly, “You look much better, Sherlock. I had been worried for a while. You had seemed so strung out and tired.”

Sherlock looked up at her and smiled, bringing one hand up to hold her wrist gently, running a caressing thumb over her pulse point. In a quiet tone, he replied, “I _am_ better. Better than I have ever been, Mrs Hudson….. And about Kesh, I’ll tell you later, when the time is right. There is so much to tell.”

 

                                                                                ***

It was eleven in the morning that Lestrade called.

“Oye, Sherlock!” he cried out in a relieved and delighted tone. “Thank God! Sherlock, I need your help desperately. We’ve had a disappearance of a high school kid, the second one in ten days. We could really use your help.”

Sherlock responded without preamble, “Text me the address, Lestrade.”

“And I have a bone to pick with you, you wanker. Leaving without letting any of us know. It was fortunate that I called Mrs Hudson this morning to check for the hundredth time, to ask just when you were going to get back….Anyway we’ll talk when you get here.”

“Good bye, Lestrade.”

 

                                                                                ***

Sherlock Holmes stood at a crime scene.

Lestrade, Sally and a host of police officers and forensic team members were moving around, collecting evidence.

He stood still, legs slightly apart, narrowed observant eyes scanning the dormitory room, absorbing everything, even as he heard Lestrade talk in the background. “Fifteen years old, disappeared from the dorm room. Had already signed in for the night. Was at the library prior to returning to the building…..Same as the previous girl, we had been looking for her. She too had visited the library and no one had seen her since. Her body was found in the park behind the school this morning. Molly is going to do the autopsy this afternoon….”

Sherlock waved for silence as he moved. Quickly, methodically he scanned, touched, sniffed, observed…. Oblivious to the people watching him.

Sally turned to Lestrade in the corner and whispered archly, “So, the freak’s back, huh?”

Lestrade chided absently, by rote as he had for years, “Don’t call him that, Sally. We need his help. This is turning into a media circus. And the parents are completely distraught. Chief is riding me hard on this one.”

Sally sniffed apologetically, “I know, boss. Just that…. Even looking at him makes me mad sometimes. Arrogant ass!”

Sherlock meanwhile had pried something out of the joint in the wooden floorboard. He impatiently snapped his fingers for an evidence bag, without looking up. Sally walked up to him and slapped the bag in his outstretched hand. “So you’re back, Freak? Heard you’d gone to India. Have a nice holiday?” Sherlock took the piece of fabric he had found and put it solemnly in the evidence bag.

Blue-green eyes locked into hers as Sherlock straightened to his full height. Hands in his coat pocket, he looked at her with a detached expression and slightly inclined his head. “Yes, thank you, Sally.” He turned back to his examination of the room.

Sally called out after him, “What! No smart-Alec remarks to show us how superior you are to us mere mortals.” The rest of the people who were scattered around, stopped what they were doing to listen, anticipating a familiar entertaining spat as always when these two clashed.

Sherlock turned to her, taking in her defensive stance; hand on her hips, curled upper lip, derision in her voice. Raising one corner of his lip mirthlessly, he answered softly, without venom, “Not today, Sally. Let’s just get on with the job at hand, shall we? Get this to Molly. Could you have someone tell her that I will join her for the autopsy.” He handed the bag to her and walked away.

Sally watched him, flummoxed even as her hand slid down her hips, frowning. Lestrade approached her, taking the bag from her hand and frowning at it. Sally mumbled slowly, “What’s with him then?”

Shrugging his shoulders, Lestrade retorted, “Well, you know _him_. Hard to read at the best of times.”

 

                                                                                ***

The large doors of the autopsy room closed softly behind Sherlock and Lestrade as they walked in. Molly was bent over the desk, scribbling hurriedly on some paperwork. Hair escaped her messy ponytail as she wrote. She straightened on hearing footsteps and saw them.

“Sherlock,” she gasped. “You’re back!” A wide smile split her face as she neared, ignoring the Inspector, eyes on Sherlock.

Sherlock's face crinkled into a warm smile. “Molly….”

Lestrade said, “Listen you two, I'd best be off. I have to go to the Yard and interview the teachers and the parents, and go through the evidence.”

Sherlock swiveled towards him, “Lestrade, I’d like to ask a few questions to the parents myself. Have them wait for a while. I’ll join you at the Yard in some time. And get in touch with your IT people. Get them on to the laptops of both the girls. I want their search histories, social networking profiles, emails, everything.”

“Whatever you say, Sherlock,” answered Lestrade agreeably, waving a hand as he left.

Sherlock turned back to Molly, murmuring, “Have you done the autopsy already, Molly?”

She reverted to a brisk pathologist as she walked to the desk, “I have the report right here. She was twelve weeks pregnant, Sherlock. Bashed in the head from behind, enough to cause her skull to cave in and some of the cerebral matter to ooze out. Time of death is approximately five days ago…”

Sherlock absently nodded, as his quick eyes scanned the report, jaws clenching as he read about the pregnancy.

“I’m going to get a cup of coffee. Would you like me to get you some?” Molly’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Yes, thank you, Molly,” he replied absently. “I’m going to have a look at the body and then ask you to assist me in the lab.”

                                                                                ***

Molly watched silently as Sherlock loaded slide after slide and examined the evidence. Fast, adroit moves without a single wasted movement as his fingers danced over the equipment. Eyes narrowed from time to time, brow furrowed from time to time. She loved watching him. As if dexterity and mastery itself had personified into a person.

_Wonder where he went? Why did he not tell me?  I feel glad he is back. Everything is better somehow when he is here._

She sipped her coffee, awaiting his instructions. “I heard you went to India…” she squeaked meekly, smile nervous but encouraging him to share.

Sherlock looked up from the microscope and observed her diffidence. He took his own neglected coffee cup in hand and sipped it. “Yes, yes I did, Molly.”

“How was it? Heard you were with a friend. You look different somehow…. So this friend…” she broke off, cringing inside and waiting for his cutting retort.

Sherlock smirked with amusement, “Yes?”

“I don’t mean to pry…” she stammered.

One eyebrow arched, Sherlock’s expression was laced with indulgence as he drawled, “But?”

Molly just stared at him, seeming to have lost the courage to inquire further.

Sherlock gazed intently at her and then admitted softly, “I _am_ happy, Molly. More than I have ever been.” He folded his hands across his chest as he leaned back on his lab stool. “I’d prefer you don’t say anything to anyone just yet.” His gaze softened further, “You are a good friend….. Kesh, his name is Kesh. Molly, he is coming to London in a month, to live with me.”

Molly stared open mouthed, with wide eyes. “ _Live_ with you?” she whispered.

“Yes.”

“Oh…. I see. I…. What about John?”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes as he sat up straight again. “What do you mean, what about John?”

Molly opened her mouth, then closed it again, eyes searching Sherlock’s face.

“Molly, John is married and happy. And I am happy for him.”

“But does he know about Kesh?”

“He’ll find out when Kesh comes here. But it really isn’t his concern, is it?”

She answered slowly, “No, I suppose it isn’t.” She neared Sherlock and put her hand on Sherlock’s forearm, “I am so glad you’ve found someone. Someone you can be happy with. I mean, it was never going to be me…. or John…..” she laughed self consciously

Sherlock looked at her hand intently and then looked up into her eyes, “I met someone in India, Molly. She reminded me of you. She used to get very nervous while talking to me as well. But like you, when something needed to be said, she would stand her ground with dignity. I felt a lot of respect for her, the way I do for you. She was very loving as well...” Molly flushed and stared at him, speechless. Her lips quirked up into a quick smile. He gave a deep chuckle as he continued, “As a matter of fact, I attended her wedding.”

“Her wedding!” Molly exclaimed. “You mean like an Indian wedding?” her girlish voice rose in tenor.

Sherlock's hand clasped hers, “Yes! I must get Kesh to forward you some photographs.”

Molly’s excited squeals echoed in the lab, just as the door opened and John came in, eyebrows raised.

 

                                                                                ***

 

_It was at two in the afternoon that Lestrade had called John at his clinic._

_“Hey, John. Guess who’s back! Yeah, Sherlock is back! And I have a difficult serial kidnapping and disappearance case….. Yeah he is at the crime scene. But we’re going to head to Barts soon…..Want to join us… no, I don’t know why he hasn’t called you yet…. Okay see you at Barts.”_

_John had hurriedly worked things out with the two other doctors at the clinic and the reception staff to reassign his patients to other doctors or have them rescheduled. Mary had started work at the clinic, Rosa was in daycare now._

_“Mary, Sherlock is back!” he told her excitedly. “He’s already started work, I’m going to join him at Barts now.”_

_Mary raised her eyebrows even as she smiled at his enthusiasm, “Well look at you. Like a kid at the lolly shop, you are! Go on then, have fun.”_

_“Yeah, yes I will,” he pecked her cheek absently before bolting out of the door. Mary watched him leave, frowning thoughtfully, smile fading away._

_It had taken over an hour of commute to get from his suburb to Barts even though it was not yet peak time. “Yeah.... hurry up then, will you?” he told the cab driver irritably._

_“Yes, yes….. it will be good. Good to see him. Hope it is a good case….. haven’t done anything for so long,” he thought._

_He threw the money at the cabdriver as he exited the cab and flew down the familiar corridors of St Barts._

Slowing as he neared the lab, he heard Molly’s squeaks which he ignored, drawn as he was to the deep baritone of Sherlock’s throat as it rumbled.

He entered the lab, eyebrows raised.

Sherlock Holmes sat relaxed on his stool, dressed in bespoke black suit, shirt collar open as usual, eyes iridescent in the harsh laboratory lighting, looking impeccably groomed and in control as ever.

Verdigris eyes flicked from Molly to John, as Sherlock rose with a cordial smile on his lips, “John.”

John took a deep breath, smiled as he moved forward to hug Sherlock. He stopped short when he noticed a hand extended towards him for a handshake. Shaking his head, John shook hands and then pulled Sherlock towards himself for a hug. Sherlock returned it with an awkward quick press on his shoulder with one hand.

They stood looking at each other. Sherlock with a warm smile crinkling his eyes and John looked up at him with an expectant look and a frown.

“You git, how could you leave without telling _me_?” he complained. “Everyone was ringing me, expecting me to know where you were. Felt like a right idiot, had no fucking clue where you were!”

He looked up to find Sherlock looking back with keen insight in his eyes, quiet for once.

John continued, “So you must tell me everything you’ve been up to." He wagged his finger.

“I _must_?”

“Yeah. Who this _friend_ is whom you suddenly found out of nowhere? Where the devil did you meet him? Didn’t even know that you knew anyone in India, that you had ever been to India,” said John in an accusing tone.

Molly looked at the two men facing each other. Sherlock looked relaxed with his hands in his trouser pockets, John pugnacious, chin tilted up, demanding.

“So….umm…..I’ll leave you two alone then,” she said moving towards the door.

John jerked out of his stance, “What’s this all about then? What’s the case?”

Sherlock responded, tone brisk, as he moved to his microscope again, “Molly will fill you in. Go and have a look at the body. Tell me if you find anything different from Molly’s report. I’m going to finish up here and then we need to go to the Yard. I need to question the parents of the two girls and talk to their IT staff.”

John said, “Yeah, okay. Will do.” His chest puffed with importance as he walked to the door. Turning back, he said to Sherlock, “Glad to have you back, Sherlock. It will be just like old times, you’ll see.” He turned and followed Molly out.

Sherlock inserted another slide under the eyepiece as he murmured under his breath, “ _Indeed._ ”

 

                                                                                ***

 

It was an hour later, that John watched as Sherlock donned his trademark coat and scarf and they left for the Yard.

Halting the cab at a curb on the way, Sherlock stepped out, saying to the cab driver, “Be back in two minutes." His long strides moved purposefully towards a middle aged homeless woman who sat leaning against a building. John trotted behind him to keep up.

She peered at Sherlock and then gave a toothless grin in recognition, “Sherlock Holmes, as I live and breathe! Haven’t seen your ugly mug in some time. Where have you been?”

“Away,” Sherlock replied shortly. “Listen Bertha, I need your group to scout Trinity School, especially the library. I need to know who is going in and out. Where’s Bernie?” he asked looking around.

“Oye, poor lad, blew his vein doing drugs. Had a huge abscess. Got it drained, he di. But now he has an open wound on his forearm. Needs a skin graft they said. Bloody NHS has him on the waiting list, he will probably be dead by the time his turn comes,” she snorted.

Sherlock nodded as he extended a fifty pound note towards her. “Send him to me Bertha. I’ll see what I can do. Trinity School. I need data, get me data.”

“Alright, Sherlock. And I’ll get Bernie to come to you. You always help us.” She nodded at him.  You’re a good man, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Sherlock nodded back and said, “Come on, John,” as he walked away.

                               

                                                                                ***

 

Thirty minutes later Sherlock and John walked into the yard towards Lestrade’s office.

Lestrade and Sally stood in a corner with a middle aged couple, talking in low voices. The woman had red rimmed anxious eyes while the man who had his arms protectively around her shoulders looked lost.

On seeing Sherlock approaching, Lestrade said in a low voice, “Now remember what I told you. Sherlock can be a bit curt, but he is our best chance to find your daughter. Just answer his questions and ignore his rudeness.”

He gave them a small reassuring smile and walked up to meet Sherlock and John.

“They’re the parents of the still missing girl. Now look Sherlock, please ….. just ask what you have to and then let it go. They’re upset enough as it is.”

John gave a derisive snort, “It’s alright, Greg. I’ll handle him.” He turned to Sherlock, “Be nice, Sherlock. Just…..Do you want me to take the lead? Just tell me what you want to ask them.” He looked inquiringly at Sherlock, eyebrows raised.

Sherlock struggled to keep an impassive face as their words stabbed at something in his chest, making it clench. He closed his eyes for a couple of seconds and took a deep breath….. _Kesh_ …..

Opening his eyes, he said in an even tone, “I think I am perfectly capable of being civil, thank you for your help, John. Lestrade.” Nodding briefly at them, he walked towards the couple.

They watched as he approached the couple. His tone was muted as he introduced himself and shook the man’s hand. Laying a gentle hand on the woman’s arm, he gestured towards the interrogation room and followed them inside.

John watched the retreating back with a frown as he said slowly, “Right, well…. He wanted me to check how far the IT team have come along.....”

Lestrade was still watching the couple take a seat, the woman bursting into tears, Sherlock’s eyes fixed on her patiently. He murmured thoughtfully, “There’s something different about him. He is as focused as ever….. but _better_ somehow…. Can’t put my finger on it.” He shook his head as he came out of his reverie and said to an equally thoughtful John, “Right, IT team. Come with me John.”

 

                                                                                ***

 

It was two in the morning that John stretched his arms wide and then rubbed his bleary eyes. He was starting to see double on the printed paper, with reams of data about the student’s backgrounds, faithfully following Sherlock’s instructions, to narrow down the suspect list and time line. Cold, soggy sandwiches for dinner had done little to nourish anyone.

He glanced at Sherlock, sitting like a hermit at the corner desk surrounded by three computers. From time to time, he moved at lightning fast speed, fingers a blur on the keyboard as he chased a train of thought. Two of the computers belonged to the school girls and the third housed the entire database of the school with details of its employees, students and their parents. Intermittently Sherlock took breaks to text Molly who was still chasing leads at the lab.

Letting out a yawn, John looked pointedly at Lestrade who was currently in the office, barking orders on the phone. The sense of anticipation was high that the case was about to crack wide open with leads coming thick and fast. Everyone knew it was a race against time to save the life of the missing girl, and were working diligently.

Finally catching Lestrade’s eye, John walked up to him and said, “I’m beat. I don’t know that I can be of much use until I have a bit of shut-eye.” Gesturing towards the door, he mumbled, “I’m going to kip for a couple of hours in one of your examination rooms.”

They both turned towards Sherlock, who look lost in his own thoughts, brow furrowed, eyes moving. “Don’t want to disturb him, Greg. Wake me if anything breaks.”

Lestrade nodded and replied, “Well go on. I’ve got this…. Where does he get the fucking energy for this?”

 

                                                                                ***

It was eight in the morning that Sherlock suddenly gasped aloud and clapped his hands triumphantly. His eyes were darting all around as he seemed to have woven a tangible coherent picture out of the hundreds of threads of evidence they had gathered.

Immediately Lestrade was by his side, having been at his wit’s end for hours. “What is it, Sherlock? Have you got it?” he asked hopefully.

Sherlock stood up abruptly and began wearing his coat and scarf, talking in his usual rapid fire way, firing off deductions. Sally and a couple of police officers gathered around with pads, rapidly taking notes, getting their walkie-talkies ready, as they moved en masse behind an oblivious Sherlock striding towards the door, throwing deductions in the air.

Tires squealed in the driveway as a mass of police men and women followed Sherlock, John and Lestrade to Trinity school.

 

                                                                                ***

“Oh my God!” exclaimed John laughing with delight. “That was the most fun I’ve had in months. Felt good to chase something after such a long time. For a while, I thought he was going to bolt free.” He moaned in appreciation as he took a huge bite of his hamburger. “Damn, that feels good.”

It was four in the afternoon. Lestrade, John and Sherlock were sitting in a café, just around the corner from the Yard. Lestrade dug into his pizza like the starving man he was. Still chewing on it, he mumbled at Sherlock, “That was bloody fantastic, Sherlock. The look on the arts teacher’s face as we confronted him. Priceless!”

John nodded, still eating as he agreed, “Brilliant _… that was_ amazing.”

Sherlock agreed softly, “Yes it was.”

He looked out of the café window as the other two ate.

They had just witnessed an emotional reunion between the missing school girl and her distraught parents. Their broken words of gratitude echoed in his head as he sipped his coffee, a satisfied look on his tired face.

 _I did well, Kesh. I was brilliant. Would have given anything to have you with me to share my triumph._ Kesh seemed to answer from within him somewhere, voice loving and adoring _.... I’m always with you Sherlock. Can’t you feel me? You are brilliant, you are perfection, I love you…._

Sherlock shrugged off his fanciful thoughts with a rueful smile, as he turned his attention back to his friends and their conversation.

“Sherlock, you need to come in and fill the paperwork for this one. And I have several cases I’ve been keeping on ice, hoping you’ll have a look at them. We’ve kept the evidence, just as you like it,” said Lestrade.

“Oh,” said John. “Well, you’ll be needing help with those too, I suppose. Look why don’t you do the paperwork bit. I’m going to take off for a while after lunch and see what I can sort out.”

Raising a hand, John ordered a coffee for himself and Lestrade.

As they waited, Lestrade sat back on his chair, sighing with contentment. He waved his hand at Sherlock, “So tell us about India, Sherlock. About this friend.”

Sherlock looked briefly at both of them and replied, “Kesh. His name is Kesh.”

John leaned back as well and spread his arms in a what-the-fuck gesture. His tone was accusing, “You know Sherlock, it was like Reichenbach all over again. You just took off, not for a few days, for almost three months.” Stabbing his finger towards Sherlock’s face, he continued, “Only this time, thank God, we knew you were not dead. What the bloody hell were you up to?”

They settled back as the waitress came back with the coffee and began clearing their table.

“And this…..Kesh…” John continued with a  wave of  his arm, “Who is he? How did you meet him? What does he do?”

Sherlock looked at John, eyes unfocused as he thought.

_You see, we have become quite used to approaching Hrishikesh bhaiyya when we have a problem…._

_I have seen him visit huts to talk, to give, to threaten, to protect…..absolute strangers…._

_Kesh has done a lot for this village and other villages around here. These people owe him a lot. I have never known him to turn anyone down….._

_He has helped countless other Uddhavs out there, whom you and I will never know about, because he never talks about it…._

_Dark matter, matter that is hidden from us, only seen in its effects.... dark energy that cannot be detected, that 95% is accelerating the universe outwards….._

“Sherlock….Oye, Sherlock!” Lestrade called out waving his hand in front of Sherlock’s blank eyes.

Sherlock shook his head as he finally replied, “He’s a physicist.”

John nodded, “Oh, right. Well, must be high-brow.” He suddenly looked animated as he turned to Lestrade, “Say listen. You know that tragedy in North India. That Himalayan Tsunami that happened. It was near where Sherlock was, isn’t it Sherlock?”

“Yes,” was the quiet reply.

Lestrade said, “Yeah, I heard about that one. It was horrible, wasn’t it?”

John took a sip of his coffee and continued, “Yeah, saw it on telly. Actually, Mary called my attention to it. I tried to call Mycroft, but the git wouldn’t take my call. Anthea answered……Said Mycroft was not _at liberty_ to come to the phone as he was overseas. But that you were fine.” He shrugged, “I figured as long as you were not involved, it was fine.”

Sherlock’s eyes went almost colourless as he stared at John, a faraway look in his eyes.

_Please sir, please don’t let me die….. save me, please bhaiyya…_

_Uncle, please help me.... Jump, child. I’ll catch you, jump…_

_No…..no, Haridas…no…_

_You are God himself….you saved me…. you were sent by the Gods to save me…..you are God….._

_NO….YOU DO NOT get to do this…..YOU DO  NOT take my Kesh from me…_

_O Rudra…._

Sherlock repeated mechanically, voice soft, “It was fine….”

Lestrade's eyes narrowed, his gaze keen as he watched the flickers of emotion on Sherlock's face. Abruptly he looked at his watch, “Oh Gosh! Look at the time. I better get back to the Yard. You coming, Sherlock?”

Taking a deep breath, Sherlock stood up as he said slowly, “Might as well finish it off.”

John stood up too, “Look Sherlock. I need to sort a few things. I’ll contact you later today. Okay?”

Sherlock murmured absently, “Fine.” He walked off with Lestrade, without turning back.

John stared at him walking away, then shrugged and made his way to an empty cab.

 

                                                                                ***

 

Lestrade and Sherlock walked into his office.

As Sherlock shrugged off his coat and took a seat, Lestrade gestured at the waiting forms on the desk, “Fill up your bit, I’ll fill in the rest.”

He stared at the top of Sherlock’s bent head, as he started to write.

“Something big happened to you in India, didn’t it?” he asked softly after a long pause.

Sherlock looked up to meet his keen gaze.

“Yes.”

“Something to do with this friend, Kesh?”

“Yes.”

“Something good?”

Sherlock took a deep breath, “ _Very_ good.”

Lestrade's smile was wide, his gaze fond as he mumbled, “About bloody time, if you ask me.”

He put his hand on Sherlock’s shoulder and squeezed as he walked past him to the door. “You’ll tell me when you’re ready,” he said confidently.

Sherlock turned to face him, warmth in his eyes, touching his hand briefly, “Thank you….. _Greg_ ,” and turned back to the forms.

 

                                                                                ***

                                                                               

It was past nine at night that the door on 221B pounded and Sherlock walked, half asleep to open it.

He took in with startled eyes the sight of John with a small suitcase wearing a big grin on his face. His eyes darted from John to the suitcase and back. Wordlessly he opened the door fully and stepped aside to allow John to enter.

John dragged the suitcase in saying, “It’s all set, Sherlock. Mary is leaving tomorrow with Rosa to go to Birmingham for about ten days. She wants to go to support a friend who is going through a nasty divorce.”

He moved into the familiar kitchen and started filling the kettle with water. “I thought it would be good if I stay here with you, whilst she is gone. It will make it easier to assist you with the cold cases and if any new ones come up. Saves me from having to commute to the suburbs everyday.”

Sherlock stared at him as he moved about in the kitchen.

_Three months ago I’d have given anything for this to happen…._

Waving a mug at Sherlock, John asked, “Tea?”

“No, thank you John. I was just off to bed.”

“Oh....” John said looking disappointed. After a few moments he said, “Well, we have a full ten days to catch up, I suppose. It will be just like old times,” he said taking a sip of his tea, smiling.

Sherlock took in the eager look on his friend’s face, perceptive eyes missing nothing.

He was silent for a few seconds, then said simply, “The bedroom upstairs should be just as you left it. Good night, John.”

He turned and walked towards his bedroom, aware of John’s eyes following him.

_Oh Kesh, you’re not going to believe what just happened…._

 

                                                                                                To be continued……

 

 

 

 

 


	20. Yogarudha- Established in Yoga

The next day turned out to be a very long day.

Lestrade had eagerly brought out a pile of cold case files, as soon as he spotted Sherlock striding into the department office, followed by John.

Accepting the files wordlessly, Sherlock made himself at home in Lestrade’s office, scan-reading, rearranging and prioritizing the cases.

He then proceeded methodically with the cases he had shortlisted. He gave directions one after another, he asked for information, ordered evidence re-examined. He sat in Lestrade’s office and sometimes paced the corridors as he muttered to himself. John ran around carrying out his instructions, Lestrade conveyed his leads to his officers and everyone got to work. The earlier day’s triumph was forgotten as they rose to new challenges. Phone calls were made, evidence shunted back and forth from the forensic lab, witnesses recalled for specific questioning.

Within a span of ten hours, Sherlock had solved four cases and given valuable leads and pointers to four more. A number of cold cases had been frustrating the department for weeks. Lestrade watched with mounting satisfaction as the prospect of most of these cases getting solved over the next few days, grew.

At half nine at night, everyone had put in well over twelve hours of steady relentless work. Lestrade’s office looked like a war zone--papers, photographs, post-it notes everywhere.

John walked in with a coffee and handed it quietly to Sherlock. Sherlock sat leaning back on a chair, long legs outstretched straight in front, crossed at the ankles. He silently accepted the coffee with a small smile. The friends sat silently, savouring the quiet.

John finally said, “Want something else, Sherlock? You haven’t eaten much since we got here.”

Sherlock shook his head, taking a big gulp of his coffee, “No, thank you, John.”

A grinning Lestrade came in, look hopeful, “Say guys, we were thinking we’d treat you both for dinner and drinks at the pub tonight. Everyone is in high spirits, we’ve got a lot done! _Way_ more than we could have hoped for.”

John looked at Sherlock, a questioning look on his face. Sherlock glanced at his watch. He stood up and stretched. “You go, John. I have things to do.”

John looked at Lestrade who shrugged and asked again, “John?”

John smiled, “Yeah, why not? Say Sherlock, see you back at 221B.”

Sherlock raised a hand in goodbye and walked  off, even as Lestrade asked in a surprised voice, “Baker Street?”

 

                                                                                ***

It was just after midnight that John let himself in the open door of 221B. Warm deep chuckles and Sherlock’s deep mumbles emanated from his bedroom and sounded loud in the silence of the night. John put his keys silently down, wondering just who was visiting Sherlock this late in the night. He walked towards the partly open bedroom door from which warm light spilled out into the kitchen. He pushed it open gently.

Sherlock lay on the bed on his side, dressed in soft cotton pajamas and an old t-shirt. He had obviously just showered, as the hand that supported his head had fingers tangled in his wet locks. He sported a boyish grin and a mischievous look in his sparkling eyes, as he chuckled, “It was ridiculous, I would have given anything for you to have seen it…….” He broke off as he saw John standing at the doorway with raised eyebrows and a smile on his face that somehow did not reach his eyes.

A shutter fell over Sherlock’s face as he straightened up to sit cross legged. His eyes though were still crinkled with warmth and mirth, as he said softly, “John….. you’re back?”

John replied vaguely, “Yeah… it finished sooner than I expected… everyone was beat.” His gaze swiveled from the computer to Sherlock, as though waiting for an invitation.

Sherlock glanced down at the monitor once and then lifted his eyes back to John.

“Of course….. did you need anything, John?”

John gave a tight smile, “No. You’re busy,” he said waving towards the laptop. “I’ll just head up to bed.”

“Rest John. Good night.” murmured Sherlock.

John turned and saw Sherlock’s gaze already back on the monitor with a look he had never seen on that face before. _Tender with an open expression, naked almost_ , John thought as his heart clenched.

He heard Sherlock’s muffled voice reverberating through the silent apartment for another hour before he succumbed to sleep.

 

                                                                                ***

 

“Does anyone want more bacon or toast?” Mrs Hudson’s voice cheerily called out from the kitchen.

“No, thank you Mrs Hudson,” John replied with his mouth full as he dug into his hot breakfast. He was dressed and ready to face another day.

Sherlock sat across him at the table also dressed in a black suit, busy eyes scanning the newspaper. “Just tea for me, thanks,” he mumbled.

They looked up as they heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Sherlock rolled his eyes and opened his newspaper in front of his face. John watched as Mycroft walked in, umbrella in hand.

Mycroft looked at John, frowning as he ran his eyes over John and inclined his head slightly, “John, what a …… surprise!” he exclaimed. Sherlock smirked into his newspaper.

John nodded in acknowledgement, “Mycroft. What brings you here?”

Mycroft strode in with an false smile and walked up to the table. He sat down and said, “I just wanted to have morning tea with my brother.” He smiled with exaggerated politeness and added, “If that’s alright with you, John. What brings _you_ here?”

John waved his hand around. “Mary is away with Rosa for a few days. I thought it would be convenient all around if I stayed here.”

 “How delightful…. for you!” Mycroft murmured dryly.

Mrs Hudson bustled in with tea for the three men and answered Mycroft’s greeting with a smile.

Turning to the newspaper behind which Sherlock was hiding, Mycroft said, “I spoke to Kesh this morning, Sherlock. For over two hours.”

Finally Sherlock put his newspaper down and looked at Mycroft, his eyes narrowed. They stared at each other, expressions keen and penetrating.

_What the devil are you up to, Sherlock? What’s he doing here?_

_It’s alright, Mycroft. Stop being such a mother hen._

“Kesh?” cried John. He turned to Sherlock, “Isn’t he your friend from India?”

Mycroft intervened, eager to reply. “Yes, it is. What a delightful young man he is.” Turning to Sherlock, “I have enjoyed our little chats _so_ much.”

John looked from Mycroft to Sherlock and back, a small frown on his face. “He’s the physicist, right? Wonder what you talked about for two hours? The state of the Universe perhaps? You have cosmic ambitions now, Mycroft?” John grinned at his own joke.

Sherlock sipped his tea, eyes on the newspaper but aware of everything.

Angling his head towards John, annoyance on his face, Mycroft answered, “Oh I assure you, Kesh is much more than a physicist, John. He has varied interests. He is also a philanthropist.”

John took a sip of his tea and leaned back, arms folded across his chest. “Physicist and philanthropist? That’s a strange combination,” he remarked.

Mycroft smiled smugly. “A unique one, John,” he corrected. “Kesh is unique. One of a kind.” He shrugged his shoulders casually as he added, “But you will know that soon enough, I suppose. When he comes to London.”

Sherlock’s eyes flashed with annoyance as he looked up at Mycroft and then flicked his eyes at John.

John looked surprised as he turned to Sherlock and exclaimed, “You never told me he is coming to London for a visit! That’s great,” he nodded his head vigourously. “Maybe we could all have dinner together? You still have to meet Mary and Rosa since you got back. Does he have family here? Where will he stay?”

Mycroft looked at Sherlock’s stern expression and desisted from further baiting. Turning to John he said mildly, “Well he owns a big house in Kensington Palace Gardens. He bought it last year.”

Sherlock look startled, as John said with his eyebrows raised, “Must be rich then! It’s a prime location.”

Mycroft looked even more smug, smiling like a cat who has just eaten a bowl full of cream, “You are right, John. Kesh is obscenely wealthy.”

Sherlock mused aloud, “I didn’t know Kesh owned property in London. He has never mentioned it.”

Mycroft looked pointedly at Sherlock, “I think he had been hoping to come to London last year. But things didn’t work out at the time.”

They sat silently sipping their tea for a little while. Mycroft stood up, “Well, I best be off. This has been very charming. John. Sherlock. Mrs Hudson.” He inclined his head as he strode out of the door. After a few moments, Sherlock got up as well. He placed his hand gently on John’s shoulder muttering, “Be back in a minute…”

He joined Mycroft at the front door.

“How many traffic rules did you break to get here, Mycroft?” Sherlock smirked, his eyebrow arched.

“Does Kesh know?” Mycroft asked gesturing upstairs with his eyes.

“I told him last night.”

“And?”

Sherlock smiled fondly, “Relax, Mycroft. He didn’t bat an eyelid. Just looked at me for a while and said _Be gentle, Sherlock_.”

Mycroft shook his head and asserted, “He _is_ an extraordinary man.”

“Yes. Yes, he is.”

 

                                                                                ***

“Sherry?” asked John, as he lifted the bottle out of the cupboard and opened another to get the glasses out.

They had had another successful, eventful day at the Yard, stopping off to have a quick dinner at a nearby café before taking a cab home. Sherlock glowed with a quiet satisfaction and John felt in high spirits.

“Yes, thank you,” replied Sherlock as he made his way to the bathroom to freshen up.

Ten minutes later both friends were in their respective armchairs, nursing their drinks and enjoying the peace and quiet of the flat. Sherlock leaned back till he was almost horizontal, long legs outstretched in front of him. John watched him with a fond look on his face. He murmured out aloud, “You’re amazing, you know? It's just like magic, what you do. I missed seeing that.”

Sherlock flicked his eyes at John, warmth crinkling his eyes as he responded softly, “I know, John…” He smiled gently as he sat up a bit and leaned forward, “So tell me….. about Mary, about Rosa, about married life.”

John smiled and dug his free hand in his jeans pocket, coming up with his phone. He scrolled down the phone menu with his hands, “I haven’t seen Rosa for two days…. Didn’t expect to miss her this much. Here,” he extended his hand to give the phone to Sherlock. Sherlock looked at baby Rosa’s photographs with a fond smile. He handed the phone back.

“Life has been good, you know. Routine. Both of us have started work at the clinic. Rosa is in daycare during the day, it’s all fine….. Nothing like the life I was used to with you, of course and... I miss that.” It didn’t take a detective to read the naked wistfulness in his unguarded tone.

Sherlock looked at his glass, caressing the stem absently with his finger, silent.

John was quiet for a few seconds. He took a deep breath, “Why, Sherlock? Why did you leave? You just took off to India, _why_?”

Sherlock’s jaw clenched, gaze fixed on the glass in his hand as he swirled the drink. …… _Kesh…. What am I meant to say?_

John waited as he watched the warmth in Sherlock’s expression slowly disappear, as the barriers went up. After a few moments, Sherlock got up abruptly to pick up his violin. He glanced briefly at John, as his hands tuned it. “Not now, John,” he pronounced with finality, his tone brooking no argument.

John watched helplessly, fists clenched. At the first sound of the violin though, his frustration seemed to recede as he slowly leaned back in his chair and watched Sherlock.

_What aren’t you telling me, Sherlock? Why do you always close yourself off when it comes to telling me anything?_

It did not take long for Sherlock to lose himself in the beautiful melody, creator and creation both equally breathtaking.  His long, graceful neck bent over the violin as if making love to it, soft curls gently framing his calm face reflecting the soft light in the room, elegant body swaying.

John surrendered to the soulful tunes, allowing his mind to wander.

_I miss him, miss this…. At least it is a better life now, better than that beige bedsit, drab and depressing as fuck….. Now I have a home, a wife, a daughter. The house is filled with sounds of a baby, with baby stuff….. picket fence and suburbs just as I had wanted it…. so what if work is a bit tedious. Bloody nine to five job, same patients, same problems, names and faces change, but underneath it is all the same…… 221B was never like that. It was always cluttered, but homey. And exciting, never knew what each day would bring. But the life of this place was this man in front of me…. beautiful man…..what a presence he has. Is it possible to enter a room which houses him and ignore him… he pulls me to him, as if breathing me in….. I miss him… Was the excitement because of the cases or because of Sherlock….. best eighteen months of my life….. I miss him….this Kesh, who is he? Holiday fling? Is Sherlock gay?...... never quite know with him…… Why is this Kesh coming here? Is he in love with Sherlock and chasing him? Then he does not know Sherlock well….. he will crush all sentiment out of him, but….  He’s changed, something has changed. I don’t matter much anymore, that’s frightening…… I’m scared….. What if he does not need me with him anymore?..... I cannot bear the thought. But, he won’t talk to me...How do I fix this…._

John’s eyes became heavy lidded as he thought, the fatigue of the day catching up with him. Sherlock played on, aware of John’s thoughts as clearly as if he could read them. He kept playing soothing tunes to calm his friend’s mind, his own mind pulsing along with his heart, playing only one tune _…… Kesh….Kesh….Kesh…_

 

                                                                                ***

 

Two days later, in the midst of trying to solve a cold case, a fresh murder dropped into their laps, a street sex worker was brutally assaulted and killed. From then on it was chaos; murder scene, chasing witnesses, Bart’s… the whole shebang.

Exhausted but triumphant when they reached Baker Street at half ten, they decided to order takeaways and John opened two beers, handing one over to Sherlock as he finally rested in his armchair with a deep groan. They made desultory conversation about the case when the food arrived, the shared experiences breaking any barriers as John chuckled and Sherlock preened.

Finally holding their third beer in hand, they settled back into their chairs. Levity slowly gave way to tired reflection.

After a long period of quiet, John stared unabashedly at Sherlock.

Sherlock observed John’s deepening frown, as though he wanted to say something.

He asked gently, “Speak up, John. What’s on your mind?” He took another big gulp of his chilled beer and waved his hand, “You’ve got something to say.”

John looked down at his drink and took a deep breath, “I’ve had a lot of time to think while you were away….” He glanced up briefly at Sherlock before looking down again, “I was not okay when I came back to London from the war. I had no future, Iife was meaningless. And then I met you. You cured me of my boredom within minutes and you cured my limp within a day. My therapist used to ask me to write by blog, _Write about whatever happens to you_ , she said. And I told her, _Nothing happens to me_.  And then _you_ happened. Suddenly my life had purpose, I had a home, friends…. I never thanked you for that.” He looked up at Sherlock as he spoke.

Sherlock responded in a quiet tone, “Well you have now, John.”

John’s face hardened, he stabbed an accusing finger at Sherlock, “And then you were gone. Without a word, without confiding in me… you let me believe you were dead. After sharing a life with me for eighteen months, you just fucking took off….”

Sherlock’s jaw clenched as despite himself a defensive tone entered his voice, “I did not leave to tour the world and have a good time, John. There was danger to you, as long as Moriarty’s syndicate was intact, they could threaten you at any time.”

John stood up abruptly, and paced around. He turned back to Sherlock, who blinked at the fury in John’s eyes. “I grieved you, you fucking wanker. For two fucking years… I mourned you, cried at night sitting all alone. I lost all purpose and identity in one swoop… I believed in you, when no one else would.”

Sherlock stood up, restless as well. He spread his arms in a gesture of surrender, “I have apologized….. again and again. What more would you have me do, John?” he said helplessly.

John almost shouted, misery and anger battling on his face. “I miss this.” He waved around the flat. “I miss this life, I miss you….. if you had not left, we would still be here, doing what we do, been happy….”

Sherlock snapped at him, “Don’t pretend you would have let that life continue forever if I had not left. You were out every night with a parade of women, trying to get laid, trying to get into a relationship.”

John looked even more angry as he snarled, “They meant nothing to me. It was always you who came first ….but by the time you came back, I was already with Mary.  I had thought marrying Mary, living in my own house, having a child…. All of this would take away the anger, make me miss this less...” His chin tilted up in a challenge. “Don’t misunderstand me, Sherlock. I love them. I love that life….” His voice broke as he suddenly sat down and ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “I… just sometimes, it is not enough…”

Sherlock looked at his friend and closed his eyes …… _Help me, Kesh….. help me help him….._

He said in a firm tone, “You have to get past your anger. Your need. Your desire for the old life, John… You’re married. You have responsibilities to your wife, your child. You have to let the past go…”

John looked up looking lost, “I don’t know how to get past it.”

“See what you have right now. Detach yourself from the memories and accept that they are from the dead past. _The world is made of rings. But we forget that the hooks are all ours. Straighten your hooks and nothing can hold you._ Dependence is bondage John. Accept what is and move on _.”_ He approached John and knelt down in front of his friend, “John see the bigger picture, lift yourself to a higher vantage point. This is the life you chose. It is a life most men would kill for. You’re married to a beautiful capable woman who loves you. You have a beautiful daughter.”

He spread his arms, lips quirking up for a brief smile, “We’ve spent a long time with each other, John. We’ve been through so much together. You are my friend. I am here. I am not going anywhere. You are welcome to come for cases. But it cannot be your everyday life anymore.”

John asked as though seeking reassurance, “What about you?”

Sherlock’s face tightened as he stood up. “It was hard…. When I came back…. “ Fixing a piercing gaze on John, he said,” I dealt with it. You must too, John. For the survival of this friendship, you must let go of your anger and sense of betrayal on a fundamental level.”

“Don’t use this new found philosophy on me, Sherlock,” John replied, shaking his head. “You don’t know what it is like for the rest of us normal humans. We feel, we hurt. You are able to rationalize everything, what do you know about emotions? Bloody _Spock_ ….My whole life has been turned upside down, not just once but so many times, because of you……" He waved a disgusted hand as he stood up, “You know what, it is bloody wishful thinking to hope you’ll understand….. I’m off to bed, see you in the morning.”

Sherlock sat for a long time in his chair, hands gripping the arms of the chair as he looked on forlornly.

_You don’t WANT to let go of your anger, John. How else would you continue to feel self righteous. How can you otherwise rationalize your sentiment. And you know what has brought all this dead past up again? You can’t stand it that I don’t NEED you anymore. That you are not number one for me anymore….. I tried, my Kesh….. Kesh…._

 

                                                                               

                                                                                ***

 

The next three days were a blur, as both men  put their harsh words behind them by an unspoken agreement and got on with detecting. It was surprisingly not hard, they read each other too well and were able to put it all in the back burner and focus on the job at hand. Besides work continued to be challenging and exciting.

 

                                                                                ***

 

Sherlock woke up at 4.30 am as had become his usual practice now. He toileted himself before going out to the living room and stroked the dying embers of the fire adding more wood. He settled down on a mat, facing the window. He closed his eyes.

_It is hard to concentrate on a nameless, faceless reality. It is very hard to actually meditate upon it. Consciousness does not lend itself that easily to focus. When you find that difficult you must look inside yourself, Sherlock. Look inside your mind palace and come up with something... a symbol, a picture, something you can focus on to help you ease out of the body/mind/intellect complex and go within….._

Sherlock had searched high and low in his mind palace and come up empty. Everything in there was associated with cases, or the past, or a memory. Finally, one day, triumphantly he had come up with the ideal image.

He positioned himself and concentrated, as he started to go within.

_Calm, unlined face with the long eyelashes of closed eyes fluttering on either side of a sharp aristocratic nose, a hint of a smile on the full lips, dark locks blowing gently in the wind, stillness radiating from that beautiful face and body….. the picture of his Kesh when he meditated._

Within no time he was beyond all the sheaths and deep within himself.

 

                                                                                ***

John rubbed his eyes and yawned as he sat up in bed thinking, “Fucking booze. Had too much last night.” He peered at his watch and noted that it was 5.04 in the morning and the house was warm. The need to urgently take a piss and drink some water to soothe his parched throat had awakened him.

He climbed down the stairs and went to the bathroom first. Sherlock’s bedroom door was ajar, the room dark. Holding the glass of water, he walked into the living room, frowning as he noticed the light coming from the floor lamp.

Sherlock sat facing the window; cross legged, spine straight, hands relaxed on his lap, eyes closed. He wore just cotton pyjama pants, his naked torso shone in the light. _What the fuck? Is he meditating_? John thought incredulously. He had seen that stillness before when Sherlock was lost in his mind palace, but never in this posture. John looked perplexed as his roaming eyes focused on Sherlock's back. He walked closer to peer at the markings on the back.

Red angry snake-like scars crisscrossed his back. Some more linear lines, deep puckered scars on his lower back…… John observed with a slowly growing horror, as comprehension started to set in. These were not marks due to a medical procedure or an injury…. He had seen similar ones in the army… on victims of torture.

He fell back with a wordless cry and tottered to his chair as he sat and stared. Sherlock continued to be still like a statue, oblivious to the world.

John sat frozen to his spot for a long time, mind gone numb. _Who did this to you, Sherlock? Why do I not know about this?_

Finally he rose and approached Sherlock again. He bent down and ran light fingers over the scars.

Sherlock gasped aloud, as if coming out of deep water. He continued to be still for a moment as he regained  sudden consciousness. His voice was gravelly, “John?” He twisted around to take in the stunned, distressed look on John’s face.

John whispered fiercely, “Sherlock, what the fuck happened to you? Where did you get these scars?”

Sherlock slowly rose to his full height, the look on his face quiet, reflective.

_“Sherlock, these scars, where did you get them?” asked Kesh as he massaged his back with gentle hands. It has been five days since Sherlock had regained consciousness and some strength as he started ambulating around the terrace with Kesh’s help. His congested chest tried to clear the muck ineffectively with harsh barking coughs that racked his entire body and left him shivering with effort. Kesh had taken to performing chest physiotherapy and then massaging his body with soothing warm coconut oil mixed with fragrant ayurvedic herbs everyday._

_Sherlock was lying on his stomach enjoying the gentle touches with gratitude. Kesh’s question broke the calm, as he looked into the distance and was quiet for some time._

_Finally Sherlock answered, “I was held captive near Lahore. They were part of Moriarty’s syndicate and had caught me spying on them. They wanted to…. extract information. Farooq gave me the scars….. he fancied himself an expert cutter…” He went silent for another long period of time. Kesh kept massaging him quietly. Sherlock resumed, “He would…. He would spit on me as he cut and dug into the flesh…. Called me all the variations of ‘white pig’ that his feeble mind could come up with. I escaped once, but the blood loss had weakened me, they tracked me down. Finally, Siddiqui and the others decided to go for it. They beat me for a long time and left me unconscious, barely able to breathe on a street in Lahore. Mycroft’s men tracked me down and flew me to New Delhi… the rest you know.” The words were uttered tonelessly, with an impassive face turned away from Kesh._

_When he finally twisted around to look at Kesh, he blinked in surprise. Kesh sat there, head bowed down, tears falling from his eyes, face grim. He barely knows me….._

_Sherlock frowned, “Kesh it is alright. I’m safe now.” A feral grin crossed Sherlock’s face, “Mycroft would have handled it. I guarantee you not a single one of them will be alive… and that their deaths would not have been pleasant.”_

_Kesh looked up, “And you want to go back to doing this! How? After suffering so much…”_

_Sherlock said softly, “I need to finish this, Kesh. I need to eliminate all threats to John.”_

_Kesh stood up, wiping his tears with his hands and murmured, “John is a very lucky man. I hope he realizes it, Sherlock…..”_

John’s voice jerked Sherlock back to the present. “This is not an injury, they look like torture scars. Why didn’t I see them when you were in hospital?”

Sherlock answered dryly, “Because you were visiting me, John. Not sponge bathing me or washing my backside.”

John asked again with a grim face, “Answer the fucking question, where the fuck did you get these scars?”

Sherlock reached for his robe draped over the chair, and put it on briskly, “Not now, John.” He stepped past John towards the kitchen.

John’s arm stopped him, “No, don’t turn away, damn it! I am your friend, I deserve to know.”

Sherlock stood still facing away, head bowed.

_No, John. I think you may have lost the right to that particular piece of information….. Help me, Kesh._

With a deep breath he turned around to face John. His voice was toneless, “I was tortured just outside Lahore. For twenty three days. By allies of Moriarty’s syndicate. They wanted to know who I was, why I was spying on them.”

John looked stricken, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders as a sad look passed his face. He said simply, “You didn’t ask…… excuse me, John.” He walked into his room and gently shut the door.

 

                                                                                ***

 

Sherlock finally emerged from his room two hours later, showered and dressed. John sat on his chair staring out into space. Sherlock quietly made tea in the kitchen and placed John’s cup on the table next to him. He stood there, sipping from his own mug, one hand in his pocket as he observed his friend. He looked dazed, tired, thoughtful.

Softly he said, “Let it go, John. It’s in the past. It’s done.”

John looked up, grim smile, “Yeah…. Yeah.”

 

                                                                                ***

 

Later that day, Sherlock sat in Lestrade’s office, chair tilted back, legs resting on another chair as he thought about a case. His hands were held together, finger tips touching in front of his face as he thought. John and Lestrade were going through some evidence in an adjoining room.

Sherlock’s phone rang. With a frown he removed it from his jacket pocket. It hardly rang, everyone who knew him knew that he preferred to text. He saw the name and smiled grimly. He had been expecting this call. He got up and glanced around quickly. He walked out of the office and the corridor, even as he pressed answer and murmured into the phone without preamble, “Hang on, give me a minute.” He walked to a nearby deserted office and shut the door.

 

                                                                ***

It was five in the afternoon. Rosa was finally taking a nap. The court had granted the divorce and her friend was with the solicitors.

Mary stared out of the window of her friend’s house with unseeing eyes, as her hand clenched around her phone as she tried to come to a decision.

She had been fighting for priority in her husband’s mind since she had met him. Sherlock Holmes took up so much space in John’s mind, there was not enough space left for anyone else. He just had to raise an eyebrow and John went running. She liked Sherlock, but a fear lurked….

_What if Sherlock wants more? He does want more, I’ve seen the naked need and desire when he looks at John. John is not gay, but is there anything he can deny Sherlock, if Sherlock chooses to apply the full force of his personality? I shot him, and he is still there. He went away, and now he is back. Will I ever have the whole of John?....... I have to do this. This can’t go on._

She pressed call, a determined look on her face.

The phone rang just twice before Sherlock’s deep voice mumbled, “Hang on, give me a minute.”

 _With John then…._ She heard his footsteps and then the closing of a door.

His voice came back, “Mary.”

Her voice was mocking, with a trace of defiance, “You’re back. Like a bad penny, aren’t you? Just when we’ve seen the last of you, you come around again.”

A heavy silence followed, as can occur with two perceptive people who are able to read volumes in the silence.

Finally Sherlock spoke, “It’ll be alright, Mary. Two more weeks. Then it’ll be alright.”

His voice sounded calm, without being placating. There was a confidence and warmth in that tone, that seemed to soothe something in Mary’s heart. She blinked back tears as her barriers started crumbling. Her voice quivered, “He came to me a week ago. You’d already gone back to Baker Street. Said he might go and stay with Sherlock, while I come to Birmingham. _Sherlock has SO many cases to solve_ ….. I don’t mind that, Sherlock. But I need to know that Rosa and I are still his priority.” She broke off.

“I know,” said Sherlock gravely. Mary took a deep breath as she listened. “I’ll talk to him….. Mary, I had promised you that I will always be there for the three of you.”

Mary’s mind went back to the wedding reception as tears fell from her eyes and her face crumpled even more. With a few words Sherlock seemed to have breached her defenses. She sobbed out, her voice plaintive, “Sherlock, his nightmares are back. Within a month after the wedding, they were back. He behaves like he is always spoiling for a fight, looking around eagerly for something to feed his need for excitement. It got worse after you left. For the past three months, all he has done is talk about you, the cases, Baker Street. It’s like he can’t decide if he wants to be a husband, father, doctor or your sidekick. I can’t…..” her breath hitched as she struggled to let the words out, “Sherlock…. I _can’t_ live with this uncertainty. I know you want him, but I _need_ him. Give him back. I can’t deal with this barely-there affection.”

Sherlock said in a calm, firm voice, “He’s misguided, confused. Give him time. We all have periods in our life where we lose our way. I’ll talk to him. I will help him find his way back to you. His place is by your side, by Rosa’s side….. I promise you.”

Mary bit her lip as she listened, greedy for the reassurance that his words provided. “None of this is your fault, Sherlock. I know that. It’s just that you seem to provide all the pieces that he finds missing.”

Sherlock asked with simple dignity, “Do you trust me?”

Mary thought for a few seconds. Then her breathless, surprised voice wafted over the phone, “Yes…. I don’t know why, but yes.”

“Mary, in two weeks time, Kesh, the friend I went to visit in India will be here. He….. we are together now. He will be living with me. Kesh is …… he’s impossible to explain…… just wait, let him get here. Everything will be alright……  give it some time, lay low. It will be alright. I give you my word, Mary."

 

                                                                ***

 

They’d had some Chinese takeaway that night, the dishes cleared away now. Sherlock and John sat in their favourite chairs, each holding a tumbler of Scotch in their hands. They sat quietly for a period of time, a reflective silence.

After a long silence, Sherlock sighed, “Okay. You’ve got questions, John. Ask.”

John looked up at Sherlock for a while before asking quietly, “Why did you go to India, Sherlock?”

Sherlock tilted his head back on his chair as he thought. Finally he straightened up, “The last time I left you, I left for your survival. This time it was for mine.”

“What do you mean? Were you in danger?”

“Yes.”

“What from?”

“Disintegration.”

“What does that mean?”

Sherlock shrugged, “I came back. You had moved on. I had ….. misjudged my importance in your life. I had thought we would be back in 221B, solving cases, sharing everything, living together. It was hard to accept that you had other priorities…. I tried….. but I missed you, missed the life we had...." He snorted mirthlessly, "We were a couple, John. Just because we were not fucking, does not mean we were not a couple. Even that Adler woman knew after one look that we were a couple. I felt deserted, as though you had deserted me. You had your new life, your wife, your new friends…. I was not coping. So I went to the one man I knew who could and would help….. Kesh..”

John looked grim, “And this Kesh…. how did he help?”

Sherlock flashed his eyes at John and then took a deep breath. He murmured softly, “He held me together. Made me whole again. Re-integrated me.”

John took a while to absorb this. Finally he asked, “How did you first meet him?”

“He found me after the Lahore incident. Mycroft had arranged for my treatment. The moment I was a bit better, I escaped from his surveillance and took off to chase after Moriarty’s men. I collapsed at Rishikesh. Kesh found me,  nursed me back to health. Then I left him too….. to continue with my mission….. he saved my life, John.”

John looked down at his hands as they clenched around the tumbler, his jaw clenched. “Your voice changes when you say his name. What is he to you, Sherlock? ”

Sherlock met the challenge in his eyes with an intent gaze, his chin turned up. His voice was hushed as he answered after a few moments, his voice dignified, solemn, “The love of my life. My heart. My soul.”

John stared at him speechlessly then looked away, breathing heavily. A long period of quiet followed.

Sherlock continued, “John, Kesh is not coming to visit London. He is coming to live with me.”

John continued to stare unseeingly at the carpet, silent. After a long pause, he murmured, “So, you’re gay.”

Sherlock snorted and rolled his eyes. “Oh for God’s sake, John! Rise above it. Labels are just labels. Yes, Kesh and I both happen to be men.”

John shook his head as if to clear it, as he absorbed the import of Sherlock's revelations. He looked up at Sherlock again, “He loves you then? And you love him. And he’s coming here, to _live_ in this house?” He looked around, _But....but this is MY home.....I always thought I could come back here anytime. What right did I have to think that? Sherlock has other interests now, he definitely does not need me anymore…._

He took a deep breath, “So tell me about him.”

“Kesh is a great man, John. He’s extraordinary. He’s coming in two weeks. You’ll see for yourself. I…. I am very hopeful that you two get along. He’s my life and you are my friend. John, please don’t think he has usurped your place in my life….. I will always need you.”

_Yeah, how long will that last for? You’ll be fucking him soon enough, he will have occupied this apartment, your life…. What will you need me for? And if you are together, there is no way he will tolerate me spending time with you…_

Unconvinced, John muttered, “I thought you hated _sentiment_. You always said it weakens people.”

Sherlock smiled, something warm and joyful spilling from his eyes, “Not what I feel for Kesh. This torrent of love….. John, it makes me feel invincible.”

_Look at you, Sherlock. You turned out to be ordinary after all. Infatuated with a man you spent just three months with. Kesh….. have to meet this Kesh._

Sherlock observed the frown, the clenched jaw, the grim expression on John’s face. He felt defeated.

_What more can I say to convince you, John?…… Come quickly. I need you, Kesh…._

 

 

                                                                                                To be continued………


	21. Maa Shuchah- Don't worry....

Mrs. Hudson’s voice called out from the kitchen, “Sherlock, I’ve put some lamb stew in the fridge. And there is some Turkish bread in the bread container. Make sure that you have something before you go to bed.”

“Hmm....” Sherlock responded absently. He sat curled up on the sofa with his laptop balanced on his lap, typing furiously.

For a few more minutes noises came from the kitchen as she cleared up the mess. She tut-tutted, “Sherlock, you really must learn to clear up this kitchen. And look after yourself.” Sherlock continued to ignore her.

A few seconds later she stood in front of him, one hand on her hip, her voice cross, demanding, “Young man, have you heard a word I said?” Sherlock looked up, eyes blank, brain still dwelling on what he was doing. His eyes slowly focused on the annoyed expression and he sighed, “Yes Mrs Hudson, I will eat.”

She sat down next to him with a huff, “What am I going to do with you, Sherlock?”

Frowning he asked, “What do you mean?”

Waving the tea towel in her hand, she said, “I’m not getting any younger, you know? I worry about how you’ll manage when I’m gone.”

Smiling fondly, Sherlock tapped his shoulder to hers, “You’ll live forever, Hudders. How would London survive without you?” He put his laptop aside and turned to sit facing her, one leg bent and tucked in underneath him, the other swinging to the floor. He gently picked up her hand as she looked at him quizzically. “I have something to tell you.….. my friend, Kesh… Mycroft mentioned he was coming to London. He is not coming for a visit. He is coming to live here with me.”

She looked at him with widened eyes, expression incredulous, “Live here!” She frowned and paused for a while, as she took it in. “As a flatmate like John or…..”

“ _Not_ as a flatmate,” replied Sherlock with emphasis. “We’re together. He will be here in another five days.”

A cautious joyful smile began to spread on her face. “Sherlock…… I … this is really good news." Her eyes sparkled at the possibility, as she repeated, "He will be living here, with you…. not as a flatmate…..”

Sherlock smiled, “Kesh is wonderful, Mrs Hudson. To know him is to love him. And I do.”

“And does he love you?”

Sherlock pronounced quietly, “More than life itself.”

Mrs Hudson stared at Sherlock, tears glimmering in her eyes, “I had hoped…..But you are so headstrong. And John, he was gone. Don’t think I didn’t see….” She put her frail hand on his cheek and smiled, “I am so happy, Sherlock. Anyone who can make you look like this….. why, he is welcome in this house.”

She stood up slowly and looking around, she waved her hands in anxiety. “I must clean the house…. I must bring more food. What does he eat? I am not sure what to do…”

Sherlock smiled fondly at her fluttering, and pulled her back on the sofa, “He is not the sort you have to _do_ anything for. Just make him feel welcome. He has no one here; only me, Mycroft and you. And he is coming from a life where he is surrounded at all times by people who love him and are loyal to him. He is leaving all of that for …… _me_ ,” he said with wonder in his voice.

Mrs Hudson grinned with delight, “So, you won’t be needing two bedrooms then?”

“Most emphatically _not_ , Mrs Hudson,” Sherlock replied, smiling cheekily.

”So, tell me about him.”

Sherlock twisted back and flung himself to lean against the back of the sofa dramatically, “Where do I start?”

 

                                                                                ***

                                               

It was late in the evening on Saturday. Mycroft had come after work to share a quiet nightcap with his brother. The food had been cleared away.

Mycroft observed quietly as Sherlock settled back into his chair sipping his Scotch.

Sherlock asked, “So tell me, what did you and Kesh talk about for two hours?”

Mycroft looked at his crystal glass, swirling his drink as he answered, “He was filling me in with what was happening with the remaining survivors under his care. But you know that already?” He raised his eyebrows as he looked at Sherlock.

“I haven’t talked to him for a week now. He has gone to  Harsil to talk to Akrur and make arrangements for how things need to be handled and see if anything else is needed. They don’t have any reception in those mountains.”

Mycroft smiled briefly, “Kesh wants to set up some scholarships for deserving youth in the Indian colleges to come to Cambridge University. He knows some of the senior professors at Cambridge, he’s liaised with them previously. I know the deans of some of the colleges, so I will set up some meetings to discuss these issues. We thought that setting up a student exchange program might also be worthwhile.”

Sherlock asked with a frown, “But surely they have good universities in India. Why here?”

“Well, he gets the principals of the schools to keep a weather eye on promising students. He said these are young bright people with excellent potential. And that, they would get a global perspective and be more useful to India in the future.”

Mycroft quirked an eyebrow as he continued, “And of course, we talked about _you_.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and smirked, settling further into his chair, stretching his long legs in front.

They sat quietly for a while. Mycroft watched him as Sherlock seemed to be lost in his thoughts.

_I had despaired for so long, I had hoped for so long to see this. Look at you, baby brother. You look so peaceful, so content. I would have given away everything I had, done anything to see this contentment on your face. And it seems to have happened without my intervention, like a miracle….._

Finally, Mycroft broke the silence, “Have you told John?”

There was a long pause. “Yes."

“And?”

Sherlock's eyes flicked up at Mycroft. He looked down at his glass, lips pursed.

“I see….” Mycroft said softly.

Sherlock shrugged, “He still comes on cases when he can. But he is finding his new life a bit …. dull perhaps. And he did not react favourably to the idea of Kesh.”

Mycroft stood up with a sigh and picked up both their empty glasses. He went to the kitchen to refill them and returned. Handing Sherlock his glass, he sat back as Sherlock continued, “Mary called two weeks ago.” He looked at Mycroft meaningfully.

“I see….” Mycroft repeated.

Another silence followed. Then Mycroft said, “You haven’t visited mum and dad. Or talked much to them.”

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders, “I want to see them with Kesh.”

After a pause Mycroft asked, “When exactly is Kesh going to be here? I know he will be here in a few days, because I have set up some meetings for him later next week.”

“His flight lands at Heathrow on Tuesday night.”

“I can’t wait to see him.”

Sherlock smiled wistfully, “Me too, Mycroft.....me too.”

 

                                                                                ***

 

It was half seven on Sunday evening. Standing in her little semi-partitioned cubicle in the large office room at the Yard, Sally hurriedly packed her phone, diary , keys and other bits and bobs into her purse.

The case was finally wrapped up after five days of frantic detecting and police work. All that was left to be done was the paperwork. Lestrade, Sherlock and John were due soon from the suspect’s house, where an arrest had finally been made.

_Three days off roster. Damn, I need the break. I’m just going to eat and sleep, do some washing and cleaning and then sleep again…..Good case, this… Freak did well. Actually, he was pretty amazing….. he’s been on the ball since he’s been back….. Doesn’t preen around so much, showing off….. Something bit off between him and John though…. Who knows what goes on in the Freak’s mind?_

Grabbing some cash, she made a headway towards the door. Turning over her shoulder, she called out to one of the other officers, “O’Donnell, boss is going to be back in a few minutes. Just going out to grab a quick coffee.”

She was still looking over her shoulder, as she walked forward and ran slap bang into something solid and instinctively clutched at the fabric in front of her. Strong hands held her by the arms to steady her as she almost lost her balance.

She looked up into warm brown eyes as a soft voice said, “I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

Sally blinked as she took in the dimpled smile set on a beautiful brown face.

_Sweet Jesus! Hello, handsome….._

The hands slipped off her arms as her widened eyes took in the expensively cut silk suit in dark grey, offsetting the soft white shirt, top button undone.

She stood upright and smiled shyly, self consciously patting her hair down, “No it’s okay….. it was my fault….. Can I help you?”

His eyes continued to twinkle as he said politely, “I’m looking for Sherlock Holmes, ma’am.”

She stared at him and shook her head slightly, as if his voice were reaching her through a fog. “You want to see the Freak?”

His eyes widened in surprise, the soft smile blossomed into a broad grin deepening the dimples as his eyes danced in merriment. “You’re _Sally_ , aren’t you?” his delighted voice cried out.

Sally frowned, “Ye…s. Who are you? How do you know my name?”

“He _told_ me you call him ‘Freak’.” He grinned and looked at her conspirationally, “He is a bit like that, isn’t he? Like a freak of nature. Magical like Aurora Borealis…. Deep like Mariana Trench…..Fast like a  pyroclastic cloud.” Sally stared disbelievingly as he continued, voice wistful, “Makes one gasp in wonder, doesn’t he? I keep asking myself..... _how_? _How_ is he even possible?”

Sally stared at him, dumbfounded. “Who are you?” she blurted out.

“I’m his friend, Hrishikesh Yadav. Please…. Call me Kesh.”

She muttered mechanically as if it were a learned response, “He doesn’t have friends.”

Kesh smiled gently, “Then that is their loss, isn’t it , Sally? To have an opportunity to be friends with a great man and not take it. A great loss indeed.”

Sally was speechless as she stared at him with a frown on her face, trying to process his words. Kesh interrupted her thoughts, “Forgive me, Sally. You were going somewhere and I stopped you.”

Sally looked at the gentle warm expression and found herself smiling back. She waved at the big office with chairs and desks all over, “Listen you could wait here if you like. They should be here soon. I was going next doors for a cup of hot coffee…… Would you like to join me?”

Kesh’s smile deepened, “I’d enjoy that very much.”

 

                                                                                ***

 

The scratching of Lestrade’s pen and Sherlock’s deep voice echoed in the empty cavernous office space.  Sherlock dictated the leaps of his deductions and chain of events that had led to the uncovering of the perpetrator of the crime.

John stood by the desk watching as Sherlock waved his arms gleefully, “And we found the distinctive fibres of his coat on her furniture. Lestrade, we’ve got him, this clinches it.”

John shook his head in amazement, “If I live to be a hundred, I’ll never understand how you do it, Sherlock.” Lestrade gave a tired nod of agreement, “Yeah. It always sounds so easy _after_ you explain it.”

Sherlock waved them off, “That’s because you see but do not observe…..” He broke off as the door opened.

Three pairs of eyes looked up as Sally entered followed by Kesh.

Lestrade and John looked as they thought simultaneously…… _Indian man, Kesh?_ They swung their eyes to Sherlock looking for confirmation.

Sherlock stood transfixed, as if turned into a statue. He could feel his heart beat as it slowed and pounded in his ears and wondered vaguely if everyone could hear it. Absently he thought…

_Feel faint. Light headed. Vasovagal reaction. Dilation of peripheral capillaries. Sudden diaphoresis. Kesh…… Kesh…….Kesh…._

Kesh stared with starved eyes, as though trying to trying to drink Sherlock in with them. Moist lips parted, his chest moving faster as though he were struggling to breathe.

They stood looking at each other wordlessly for a few seconds. It was as though the world had receded from their consciousness, as if only the two of them existed.

Lestrade stared at Sherlock with bulging eyes and whispered to an equally entranced John, “Bloody hell, John! Look at Sherlock’s face…..” They stared from one to the other, unwilling to let their eyes blink for fear of missing something. Sally sidled up to them and whispered with a discrete hand covering her mouth, “That’s Kesh. He’s the Fr…… he is Sherlock’s friend.”

Finally Sherlock let out a shuddering breath, uttered the only word he felt capable of in a hushed whisper. “ _Kesh_.”

As though a spell was broken by the word, they moved towards each other, their eyes having a conversation of their own.

_Kesh….. my love….. I’ve waited for every minute of every day for you…… You are here..._

_I love you, Sherlock. How could I have stayed away from you for so long? Look at you. So beautiful, so perfect. It’s okay now. We are together again. I love you._

Kesh's voice was soft, “I came early, I wanted to surprise you. I went to Baker Street and met Mrs Hudson. She told me you would be here… I left the luggage with her….”

“You did surprise me, Kesh.”

With a deep breath, Sherlock turned to Lestrade and John.

“This is….. Kesh.” He waved a hand.

Lestrade stepped forward to shake hands, a warm grin on his face. “Good to meet you, Kesh”

Kesh smiled, “You have to be Detective Inspector Lestrade. I am so pleased to meet you too.”

John stood with a small forced smile on his face.

_So....this is Kesh. Fucking hell, he’s good looking. Never known Sherlock to look at anyone like this._

Kesh stepped towards John, his eyes unblinking, voice full of wonder, “You’re John. John Watson. Sherlock’s best friend.” He put his hand forward as a wide smile lit his face. “I have been waiting so desperately to meet you. This truly is a privilege.”

John searched Kesh’s face for challenge, for sarcasm. All he found was deep understanding in the warm eyes, an acceptance, affection.

_Why is he looking at me like this? Why would he feel affection for me?  Shouldn’t he be resenting me? Shouldn’t he be suspicious? How can he look so welcoming, so self assured? Why do I feel like I want to trust him?_

They shook hands as John's face split into a friendly smile despite himself, “Welcome to London, Kesh.”

Sherlock had eyes for no one else. He just stood staring at Kesh. Lestrade coughed and said gently but firmly, “Sherlock, I think this paperwork can wait. You need to take Kesh home.”

“Home,” repeated Kesh, a note of disbelief in his voice.

“Yes…… let’s go home, Kesh.”

 

                                                                                ***

 

“MRS HUDSON?” Sherlock bellowed loudly as soon as he opened the front door. He felt queasy—nervousness, excitement and joy creating an untenable mixture of emotions surging through his system, and settling uncomfortably in his tummy.

Mrs Hudson hurried out of her apartment, wiping her hands on a tea towel, a welcoming smile on her face. “Kesh! Sherlock! You’ve found each other.”

Kesh smiled back and said politely, “Thank you, Mrs Hudson. I will take my suitcases up now.”

She looked at Sherlock as she explaoned, “I offered for him to go up and rest. But he said he would wait until you were here.” She turned to Kesh and smiled approvingly. “He said this is going to be his home, he will not enter it without Sherlock to welcome him home.”

She looked meaningfully at Sherlock, “I’ve cleaned up. And there is food on the table.”

Sherlock nodded gratefully, “Mrs Hudson, I’ll just go up and get….. ready. Leave the suitcases in the hall, we will get them up later.”

She smiled at Kesh, “You must be tired from your journey, young man. Would you like me to make you a cup of tea?”

 

                                                                                ***

 

Sherlock bounded up the stairs and hurriedly opened the door. He looked around, busy eyes scanning every inch. The apartment looked spotless. He moved around wondering if Kesh would find it acceptable.

_His fucking bedroom is bigger than the area of this entire floor. What was I thinking? What if he hates it? I’m going to throw up……_

He heard Kesh’s footsteps walking up the stairs and turned around. He froze. Kesh stood at the door looking at Sherlock, holding the door frame with one hand as if seeking support.

Silently they stared at each other, waves of love and happiness spreading all around them.

Sherlock looked at him in wonder.

_He’s about to step into my home, my life. Please, please let me be deserving of him, his love. I hope I don’t cock it up. Have I ever felt this happy before?_

Kesh stared back at Sherlock, overwhelmed.

_To be allowed this…. To be given the love of this most amazing of men…. Please, Shiva, let this be my home, let me spend the rest of my life showering this man with all the love I possess…._

Sherlock spread his arms, his voice was quiet, joyful, “Welcome home, my Kesh.”

Tears glimmered in Kesh’s eyes as he looked on, unable to move.

Sherlock came forward and placed his hand on Kesh’s pulling him in. Kesh fell into his arms as Sherlock’s hold tightened around his friend, embracing him. They just stood there, in each other’s arms, content to breathe each other in, hearts beating in tandem.

After a long time, Sherlock drew back and cupped Kesh’s face with both hands; eyes searching, finding and then drowning in the love he saw. He leaned forward lips almost touching, gaze flicking all over Kesh's face. With unbearable gentleness he whispered against Kesh’s mouth, “I love you, Kesh.”

Kesh’s hand came up to cup over one of Sherlock’s hands, “I love you too, Sherlock.” He swayed forward closing the gap and gave out a gasp as he finally felt Sherlock's soft lips kissing him. Gentle, loving, close mouthed pecks. Instinctively he melted into Sherlock’s body, every part of him molded to Sherlock. Sherlock groaned loudly as his kisses deepened, warm insistent tongue parting Kesh’s lips, invading that willing mouth. One hand slid down Kesh’s back to his ass and pressed him closer.

“Sherlock…” Kesh whimpered, as Sherlock tangled his other hand into the long locks and tugged to bare Kesh’s neck, kissing and sucking on it. “Kesh, my Kesh…. I have missed you..”

Suddenly his hands and lips stilled, his head reared up, eyes narrowed in concentration. His eyes flashed with annoyance as he hissed, “Oh for God’s sake! Mycroft!!”

Kesh looked around, dazed and confused. A moment later, footsteps sounded up the stairs, Mrs Hudson’s cheery voice called out, “Boys! Mycroft is here to see you.”

Mycroft strode in excitedly, closely followed by Anthea. Ignoring Sherlock’s glare, he walked up straight to Kesh, a huge smile on his face. They hugged delightedly as Anthea gaped at the open gesture of affection, so unlike her employer.

“Welcome to London, Kesh,” Mycroft said, holding his arm. “I came as soon as I heard.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “Obviously.”

Kesh asked innocently, “How did you know I had arrived?”

Sherlock smirked and pointed an accusing finger at Mycroft, “This, _this_ is what I have had to put up with. He _spies_ on me, Kesh. You wouldn’t know. You don’t have a big brother.”

Kesh grinned, “Well I do _now_!”

Mycroft flushed with pleasure at his words. He smiled and held his chin up smugly, fighting an impulse to poke his tongue out at Sherlock.

Kesh asked, “How are you, Mycroft? I am so thrilled to see you again. I was so looking forward to this.” He turned to Anthea and walked up to her, smiling. “You must be Anthea. I am Kesh. Pleased to meet you.”

Anthea looked assessingly at the man who seemed to have bewitched both the Holmes brothers. She found herself smiling back, “Likewise. Welcome to London, Kesh.”

Mycroft continued to ignore Sherlock, as he led Kesh to the red armchair and seated himself on Sherlock’s chair. Sherlock walked up and sat on Kesh’s armrest.

“So, how was your flight? You are two days early. Sherlock said you were coming on Tuesday.”

“It was fine, Mycroft. And yes, I was able to leave earlier. I wanted to surprise Sherlock.” He looked up at Sherlock and smiled. “By the way, Uddhav and everyone in India send their regards to both of you.”

“How are things going on back in India?”

“They are good, Mycroft. We managed to reunite most of the families. The ones left behind will be taken care of by us. Unfortunately, Manjula’s family seems to have been lost. She will live with Uddhav and Meera. Mahesh is there anyways. Now they have a daughter too. They’ve started work on rebuilding the school. There is so much more to tell. I will fill you in.”

Sherlock cleared his throat as he looked meaningfully at Mycroft.

_Go away._

Mycroft pursed his lips and kept his eyes on Kesh.

“I know I should have talked to both of you about this first. Kesh, Sherlock. I’ve organized..” He inclined his head towards Anthea and corrected himself, “ _We’ve_ organized a welcome party at my house next weekend. Our parents, some relatives, some work colleagues that I am keen for Kesh to meet. And of course Sherlock’s friends; Mrs Hudson, John and his family, Lestrade and his family, Molly Hooper.” He waved his arm at Sherlock, “And anyone else you care to invite, Sherlock.”

Sherlock arched an eyebrow, a question in his look as he glanced at Kesh. Kesh nodded and smile, “Thank you for going through the trouble, Mycroft. Of course, Sherlock and I will be there. I look forward to meeting everyone, especially your parents.”

Sherlock squeezed Kesh’s shoulder, “They’re looking forward to meeting you as well, Kesh.”

Mycorft added, “Yes indeed. Mummy is dying to meet the man who has finally ensnared our Sherlock’s heart. “

Sherlock stood up abruptly, “Well, Mycroft. You wanted to meet Kesh. You have met him. Kesh is tired and we’ve….. a lot to discuss.”

Mycroft stood up, a distasteful grimace on his face, “Well, we’d better leave. I’m sure you two have a lot of …… _catching up_ to do.”

Kesh blushed furiously and looked down, embarrassed, Anthea sniggered loudly and Sherlock looked on smugly, one eyebrow raised. “Yes we do, Mycroft. And you are in the way. Good night.”

Mycroft turned to Kesh, “Don’t mind him, Kesh. He insists on behaving like a child sometimes.”

Kesh mumbled, “Good night." Mycroft glared haughtily at Sherlock, his chin up in mock disdain as they left.

 

                                                                                ***

Sherlock followed them and stood waiting by the door. When he heard the front door close, he closed the living room door and bolted it.

Kesh stood, still looking embarrassed.

Sherlock came up to him, smiling gently, “My shy Kesh….. don’t fret. We were just baiting each other.” He raised Kesh’s chin with his fingers and looked into his eyes, love and desire pouring out of his own. “Are you hungry? Do you want to eat?”

Kesh shook his head, his eyes widened as he took in the unmistakable intent and heat in Sherlock’s eyes. His own eyes filled with a mute plea, he said absently, “I ate on the flight.”

“Come here,” said Sherlock pulling Kesh closer, bringing their lips together. He sucked each lip in turn before plunging his tongue in, tasting, sampling. Hands moving over Kesh’s body with intent, he ground both their groins together. Kesh responded with enthusiasm, his own hands clutching Sherlock’s shirt, as he arched. Sherlock brought Kesh's hand to his lips. “Let me show you _our_ bedroom,” he murmured huskily.

Leading Kesh he opened the bedroom door and stood aside to let Kesh enter. Kesh stepped in and looked around at the room and then at the big bed. Sherlock stepped in behind him, holding him close, his arm around Kesh. With one hand he angled Kesh's head to bend down and kiss his neck, the other hand straying down to Kesh's belly, pulling him closer. His erection dug into Kesh's cleft as he moaned, nostrils flaring as he breathed in.

His voice was husky with arousal, “Your smell…… I had a case recently. Private client, burglary at his store. Caught a whiff of sandalwood in the perfumery section…..” He sank his teeth gently into Kesh flesh, taking small nibbles along his neck. Kesh shivered and sank back further into Sherlock. Sherlock's hand moved further down to palm his engorged length through his trousers. He squeezed firmly. A strangled cry escaped Kesh, “Sherlock….”

Sherlock continued, his voice dreamy, “The moment that sandalwood smell hit me, I thought of you. Got hard within seconds…..” He gave out a soft chuckle, “Fortunately I was wearing my coat….”

Nimble fingers unbuttoned Kesh’s shirt as he continued to whisper in his ear, “Came home and wanked off to you….. didn’t last two minutes….. my Kesh.” He pulled the shirt off. Standing behind Kesh, he rubbed his erection on Kesh’s ass, as his hands moved forward to unbutton the trousers and pull the zip down. One hand came up to rub his fingers over Kesh’s sensitive nipples while the other crept into Kesh’s pants to stroke him. Kesh almost lost his balance as his hips buckled under the twin assault, further amplified by Sherlock’s husky voice in his ear, “Have dreamed of this for so long, Kesh. You….” he pinched and rolled a nipple, his strokes on Kesh’s cock firm, unrelenting. “You naked on this bed…. My Kesh…. going to have you, enjoy you every day for the rest of our lives.”

Kesh was giving out breathy sounds, like a prayer, “Sherlock…. Please, Sherlock”

“Going to have you all over this house, Kesh.”

“Sherlock, please…… please, I haven’t…..” Kesh cried as his hips helplessly moved to the rhythm of Sherlock’s strokes.

Gently removing his hand, Sherlock petted his sides soothingly. He came to stand in front of Kesh and bent down to remove his shoes and socks and pull off the trousers and pants. He rose up and cupped Kesh’s face and asked quietly, “You haven’t what, Kesh?”

Kesh blushed, his eyes lowered, “I haven’t…..”

Voice suddenly hoarse, Sherlock asked, “Haven’t what, Kesh? Haven’t touched yourself?”

Kesh shook his head, mutely.

“Haven’t had an orgasm since I left. Why?”

“Wanted to wait….. for you,” Kesh replied.

Sherlock kissed the tip of Kesh’s nose. “You extraordinary man….you don't have to do that, my love. It's not a betrayal,” he whispered against Kesh’s mouth. A slow seductive smile spread across his face, “Let’s make this one extra special then, Kesh. Lie down.”

Kesh lay down on the bed and watched Sherlock as he undressed. Sherlock watched him, as he pulled his clothes off… the need, the hunger in his eyes as they tracked Sherlock’s body and looked at his cock, the shallow rapid breaths, the rapid heartbeat pulsing in his neck…. _Oh Kesh…. look at you, how much you want me, how desperate you are…._

Keeping his gaze locked on Kesh’s face, he rummaged into the drawer with one hand to locate a tube of lubricant. He threw it down on the bed and then crawled towards the middle of the bed on all fours. Bracing himself on his forearms, he whispered, “Mine?”

Kesh looked up, love and trust swimming in his eyes. He replied softly, “Yours, Sherlock. Always yours. I love you.” Sherlock lowered his body over Kesh, taking joy in feeling Kesh's arms around him, melting into his body, their breath mingling as they frotted and rubbed their erections together.

“Love you, Kesh,” Sherlock gasped out.

“I love you, Sherlock. Love you so much….missed you….. missed this….. please, Sherlock.”

Sherlock brought their lips together, suckling on Kesh, his roaming tongue invading him, enjoying the taste, the smell. He rolled off and sat up, head resting against the headboard. He pulled Kesh to him. “Come here.” He positioned Kesh to lean over him as he guided Kesh's engorged length in his mouth. Kesh gasped, hips stuttering forward as he felt heat engulf him. Sherlock's lubed fingers breached him one by one, slowly. Bracing his hands on the headboard above Sherlock’s head, Kesh looked down with dazed eyes as Sherlock’s head bobbed to suck him, full lips stretched around him, the delicious friction. He was moaning without restraint. “Sherlock…Sherlock.. please…” he pleaded.

With sure fingers Sherlock prepared him, bold grazes on his prostate pleasuring Kesh from behind as he kept up a steady, unrelenting suction on his flesh in the front. One hand held Kesh’s cheek and pushed, encouraging him to move.He let his mouth fall open to deep throat him, his fingers moving expertly to loosen him, ready him.

A steady litany of broken pleas and little needy noises fell from Kesh’s mouth as he slowly allowed himself to fuck Sherlock’s mouth. He was not quite sure what was giving him more pleasure; that sinful mouth, those exquisite lips wrapped around him or those skillful long fingers invading him, playing with him.

“Sherlock, please…… Oh God… I don’t know how long I can last…. Sherlock, help me….. Please…. Please, Sherlock, not like this….. I’d imagined…..”

Sherlock let him go as he withdrew his fingers. Clearing his throat he scanned the desperate look on Kesh’s face and gently eased him on the bed. Leaning over him as his hand slicked his cock with lube, he murmured, “Going to take you now, Kesh.” Kesh spread his legs apart in invitation, “Please, Sherlock. I need you… I want this so much.”

Sherlock kissed Kesh’s upturned face gently, as he mounted him, guiding himself into his Kesh’s heat slowly. “Love you…. my Kesh….. mine.” Kesh panted as Sherlock rocked in with patience and finally sheathed himself fully.

“Alright, Kesh?”

He nodded as restless hand moved over Sherlock’s arms, his chest, “Please, Sherlock….. move….. I need…. I want…. Please don’t make me wait.”

Sherlock moved slowly at first, placing reassuring soft kisses on Kesh’s forehead, eyes, nose as he let Kesh get used to the stretch.

Kesh started raising his hips faster, trying to get closer, urging him on, clutching at his flexing thighs. Sherlock let out a moan as he kissed Kesh, tongue moving into his open panting mouth as he sped up. Soon he was slamming  into him with increasingly brutal deep thrusts. The headboard shook with each plunge. Both men were sweating, helpless moans filled the room as they mated with passion and abandon. Kesh’s fingers scratched at Sherlock’s back leaving deep grooves as he writhed and arched under him. Sherlock sat up and tilted Kesh’s hips further as he took his pleasure, eyes greedily watching his cock moving in and out of the tight passage.  One hand stroked Kesh as he continued to fuck hard, repeatedly slamming without mercy.

“Sherlock…… Sherlock, I’m going to come…… I’m coming…..Sherlock….. Oh God.” Kesh’s eyes widened as he climaxed, his come spurting into Sherlock’s hand. “Sherlock….. I love you… so good….so good, Sherlock.”

Sherlock felt Kesh clench around his cock as he came and he drove in with increasing desperation, chasing his own release.

“Holy fucking hell….. Kesh...... Kesh….” he cried out loudly as he pushed himself deeper and emptied all he had into Kesh. His whole body shaking in reaction, he gasped as he struggled to regain his breath.

After a while, he tenderly looked down at Kesh’s sated face and sank into his body. Both laughed softly, full of delight.

“That was….. was…. I love you, Sherlock,” whispered Kesh.

Propping himself up on his forearms, Sherlock rubbed noses with Kesh gently. He smiled smugly and said, “Welcome home, Kesh.”

Kesh smiled and buried his face into Sherlock’s chest.

 

                                                                                ***

 

They stayed in bed for a bit, lazily kissing and cuddling.

Eventually, Kesh took a deep breath and stretched, “I need to have a shower, Sherlock.”

Kesh went into the bathroom as Sherlock went down to fetch his suitcases. Mrs Hudson had left them in the hallway.

Putting on his pyjamas, Kesh said, “I’ll unpack tomorrow. I feel too tired, too happy right now.”

They snuggled in bed as they talked quietly in between yawns and kisses. Sherlock buried his face into Kesh’s chest as he told him about John and Mary in a small voice. Kesh turned Sherlock’s face up and looking down at his friend he said quietly, “Everything will be alright, Sherlock. I’ve met John. I’ve looked into his eyes. He is a good man and he loves you a lot. It will be alright, don’t worry, my love.”

Sherlock kissed Kesh’s chest softly as he allowed the tenderness of Kesh’s protective hands seep into him, soothe him. Kesh mumbled into his hair, “I saw this movie once, Sherlock. There was a dialogue in there, ‘ _Everything will be alright in the end….. if it is not yet alright, it’s not yet the end_.”

Sherlock grinned into Kesh’s chest and let his voice and the loving fingers passing through his hair lull him into a deep, carefree sleep.

 _My Kesh is home…… everything will be alright_ , he thought as he slept.

 

                                                                                To be continued……………

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dialogue is from a movie called, “The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel” starring Judi Dench. It is set in India and is quite lovely! Do see it if you get a chance. 
> 
> I love this dialogue because it encapsulates the entire Indian mindset in a few words. What can I say, we are largely a bunch of optimists :)


	22. Na Pranashyati- Never perishes.....

“Wo-hoo! Sherlock!” cried out Mrs Hudson as she knocked on the door and entered 221B.

It was five in the evening on Thursday. Kesh came out of the kitchen, wiping his hands, smiling. He said, “Mrs Hudson, Sherlock is not here. Inspector Lestrade called earlier about a case and he left.” He watched her flustered face as he added gently, “Can I be of help?”

She stood in the living room, wringing her hands, “It’s just about this party of Mycroft’s on Sunday. I just can’t seem to decide what to wear. I had wanted to ask Sherlock if it is a formal affair.” She looked at Kesh as she explained, “Mycroft can be terribly formal you see, and Sherlock said he’s invited some of their relatives and some bureaucrats as well.”

Kesh slowly guided her to the kitchen. “Why don’t I make us a cup of tea, Mrs Hudson, while you tell me about it.”

“Oh, I can make us some tea, Kesh.”

“No, Mrs Hudson, I insist. I was halfway to making some for myself anyway. Do you mind chai tea?”

“Oh no, that would be lovely, Kesh.”

She sat on the chair while Kesh busied himself. “Well, I’ve got this burgundy dress that is lovely and it has this terribly formal hat that goes with it, you know satin and feathers and all” she said gesturing to her head. “And then there is this very pretty floral pattern that does not look like I am trying too hard.”

Kesh placed the tea in front of her and sat across on another chair.

“Well, Kesh, what do you think?”

Kesh smiled, “May I be honest, Mrs Hudson?”

She frowned, “Yes, of course.”

“I know nothing about women’s clothes. So I won’t be able to help you. And anyways, I look at you and….. Well, you are like Sherlock’s mother and therefore you are like my mother. And children don’t notice what their mother looks like or what she is wearing. To them she has the most beautiful face in the world anyway.”

Shrewd eyes watched him as he sipped his tea.

 “This is truly lovely, Kesh,” she said gently.

She took a deep breath, “Sherlock told me you lost your parents when you were eleven. Not young enough to forget and not old enough to fend for yourself.”

Kesh sat for some time, a small frown on his forehead. After a while he murmured, “It was hard….. Haridas, who was a manservant and looked after my father, was with me since the day I was born. I looked up to him as a father. But I had no mother figure, no one I could run to when I was confused or sad, just to rest my mind.”

Mrs Hudson listened quietly.

“Everyone I know well in India is either younger to me or works for me or feels like they owe me something. There never was anyone whom I could unburden myself to……. And then, Sherlock came into my life. I found someone in front of whom I could cry, I could be weak…… He is a very strong man, Mrs Hudson.” He looked up at her, there was wonder in his voice, “And now I am here. Sherlock is with me. And I have found an elder brother _and_ a mother. I am truly blessed.”

Mrs Hudson cleared her throat and picked up the empty tea cups to the sink. Coming back, she stood in front of Kesh and placed her hand gently on his head, eyes shining with a faint glimmer of tears. “It is Sherlock who is lucky to have found you…….And I’m here, Kesh. If you ever need someone to run to, I’m here.”

Kesh smiled as he picked up her hand and placed a soft kiss on her palm. “Thank you,” he murmured.

She smiled fondly, “Kesh, I know Sherlock can be a bit neglectful and a bit messy at times. But he cares for you very deeply. I’ve never seen him light up the way he does when he talks about you or is around you.” She paused frowning. “Well, except when there is a serial murderer, I suppose……”

Kesh grinned suddenly and they looked at each other and burst out laughing.

 

                                                                                ***

It was nine at night on Friday that Kesh entered 221B. “Sherlock!” he called out.

“In here,” came the reply.

Taking off his shoes and socks, Kesh walked into the bedroom. Sherlock was sitting, freshly showered and wearing his night clothes, perched at the top of the bed, laptop balanced on his knees, keen alert eyes scanning what was on the moniter.

Kesh started to undress as he talked, “Sorry I am late. Mycroft and I met with no less than eight people at Cambridge University. We met some faculty members and some people I knew as well. I’m going to have to ring Uddhav in the morning to shortlist the students I can sponsor.” He shook his head in wonder as he pulled off his trousers, “Mycroft has a lot of influence, Sherlock….. and then we went for dinner at his club. _That_ is a very formal, very strange place.”

“Hmm….” said Sherlock absently, eyes on the computer.

Kesh smiled as he pulled a fresh towel out of the cupboard. He stepped close to Sherlock and kissed his curls gently. “I’m going for a shower.”

Sherlock glanced at him as if noticing him for the first time. He smiled, “I’ll just be a few minutes, Kesh. I have this intriguing case of online gaming fraud. Private client. Won’t be long.”

Kesh bent down and placed a soft kiss on his lips, “Take your time.”

 

                                                                ***

It was one thirty in the morning, when a gleeful Sherlock finally solved his case. He looked around the empty bedroom with a wide, triumphant grin. And then suddenly blinked in horror….. _Kesh. Fuck, what time is it?_

He jumped out of bed when he noticed the time and hurried out into the living room. Kesh sat on the sofa, reading under the soft light of the night lamp. He looked up as Sherlock came in, smiled and put his book aside.

“Solved it?”

“Yes.” Sherlock waved his arms in disgust, “It was one of the employees. Interesting modus operandi, dull reason. _Money_.” He snorted derisively.

He knelt down in front of Kesh and looked up at him. He said softly, apologetically, “I lost track of time, Kesh.”

“I know.”

“I do that sometimes, I’m told…. Get lost in a puzzle.”

Kesh stroked his hair gently, “I know.”

“You stayed up.”

“I wanted to.”

Sherlock frowned as scanned Kesh's face for any evidence of anger, resentment. His voice was full of curiosity, “I ignored you. _Why_ are you not upset?”

Kesh kissed his lips softly, “You were doing what gives you joy. Why would I be upset with that?” He pulled Sherlock closer and placed soft kisses all over his face, taking his time; the fragile pale eyelids, the sculpted cheekbones, the patrician nose, the full sumptuous lips, the high forehead. He held that beloved face in his palms and looked at Sherlock, gaze reverent and said in a quiet voice, “Do you know how blessed I feel to just to be in your _presence_? How lucky I feel? To be able to sleep in your arms, wake up looking at your face..... like all my dreams have come true." He shook his head in disbelief, "Sherlock, you are worth waiting an eternity for. I will always wait for you.....always, always.....

Sherlock breathed against Kesh’s mouth, smiling gently, “How much you love me, my Kesh!” He took in the tired look in Kesh’s eyes and pulled Kesh up, "You're exhausted, time for bed.”

Sherlock spooned Kesh from behind in bed, Kesh’s head on his arm, their usual position to go to sleep. He murmured against his neck, “Sponsoring those kids…. That is good…… Get Mycroft to help. He can deny you nothing. He cares about you, he’s developed a deep respect for you.”

Kesh smiled against Sherlock’s arm, “I know.”

“My parents will adore you as well.”

Kesh twisted to look at Sherlock’s face, “I hope so.”

Sherlock kissed his lips, his voice reassuring as he nudged him back, “They will, Kesh. Sleep now.”

 

                                                                                ***

 

Kesh entered 221B on Saturday morning, groceries in hand. He watched the scene in the living room silently as he put the groceries down.

Sherlock was in the living room dressed to go out, shoes, coat, scarf in place. He was talking to a tall lanky young man in scruffy clothes, with a big bandage on his right forearm, looking at Sherlock with sharp eyes.

Sherlock opened his wallet and drew out one fifty pound note and gave it to the man, “Take this Bernie. You’re to go clean from now on. I’ll be watching. And I’ll have a word with Mycroft to see if he can work on that waiting list for your skin graft.”

Bernie inclined his head deferentially, “Thanks guv. I’ll be good. I’m sick of them drugs m'self, Mr 'olmes.”

Sherlock nodded for Kesh to join them. “This is Bernie, Kesh. Part of my homeless network. Sharp observer, very handy to have around.” He inclined his head towards Kesh and said, “Bernie, this is my friend, Kesh.”

Sherlock turned to Kesh, “I’m afraid I have to go, Kesh. Should be back by noon.” He touched Kesh’s arm lightly as he left.

Bernie made a movement to follow him but was stopped by Kesh’s gentle voice, “Would you like to stay and have a cup of tea with me, Bernie?”

An hour later they were still sitting in the living room and chatting, as Kesh gently asked questions; What is the homeless network? Where do you sleep at night? How did you become homeless? Do you have a family? How did you hurt your arm? Do you all have difficulty getting medical help when needed?

 

                                                                                ***

 

It was Sunday morning and John sat sipping his tea and reading the newspaper in the kitchen. Mary was busy at the sink, cleaning Rosa’s milk bottles.

He looked up, “Where did you put the receipt for the dry cleaners? I need to get my suit for this evening.”

“It’s on the mantelpiece.”

“Wonder if I should wear a tie? Bloody Mycroft can be so formal sometimes.”

Mary pushed the bottle brush in as she scrubbed the bottle on the inside, “I don’t think so. It’ll look as though you are trying too hard.”

John looked at her back as he mumbled, “I wish you’d change your mind about coming.”

Mary picked up the next bottle as she glanced at John and sighed loudly, “Rosa has a fever. She has been irritable since she got her vaccinations yesterday. She was up all night. Finally I’ve managed to get her to sleep. I cannot handle a commute into the city _and_ look after a cranky baby.”

John turned a page of his newspaper, “You know it is only going to look like you’re not coming deliberately, to avoid Sherlock.”

Mary flung the bottle in her hand angrily into the sink that was filled with warm soapy water. She turned around and snapped at John, “I don’t _care_ what he or anyone else thinks. Why does what he think have to matter so much all the fucking time?” She gritted her teeth, hands clenched on the kitchen counter, “I am so tired of this. We’ve been arguing about the same bloody topic of Sherlock Holmes for a week now. I’m sick of it.”

She watched as John hung his head down, jaw clenched. He was deep breathing trying to control himself. He turned a grim face at her and said in a quiet hiss, “ _What_ to do you want from me?”

She fought back tears, “To be a husband, a father. Is it too much to ask that you are a hundred percent with us, when you are with us?”

John stood up, frustration in his eyes as he jabbed a finger at her, “I go to work five days a week. I go to help Sherlock for cases only on weekends or after hours. I’ve barely asked for any extra days off. The commute alone is killing me. _How_ have I not been with you and Rosa?”

Mary’s voice was bitter, “Yes, well you’d have _loved_ to stay at your beloved Baker Street at night, wouldn’t you? Why don’t you climb into bed with Sherlock fucking Holmes then?”

The loud bang as John hit the kitchen table with a angry fist, resounded in the kitchen. He shook his head in warning, “Don’t. Don’t _ever_ talk about him like that. You have no bloody idea what you are saying.” He breathed in and out some more, nostrils flaring with anger, _frustration_.

After a while, he said in a quiet voice, “Anyway Kesh is there now.”

Turning back to her bottle cleaning, Mary murmured under her breath, “Thank God for that.”

She gave John a couple of minutes to cool down. Then picking up a glass of water, she sat across him, her tone conversational. “So what is this Kesh like?”

Accepting the olive branch, John leaned back as he mused on his reply. After a pause he frowned and said, “I’ve only met him twice. The day he arrived and once when I went to Baker Street with Sherlock after a case.”  He paused and frowned some more, “He is…. nice. Yeah….  I thought he would resent me, but he hasn’t made any attempt to stop me going on cases with Sherlock.”

Mary snorted, “Smart man.”

John looked puzzled, “What do you mean?”

She reached across to hold John’s hand in hers and looked at him earnestly, “John, he recognizes the same thing that I did. How close you and Sherlock are ….. how much you mean to each other.” She took a deep breath, “Do you remember after Sherlock came back I did not try to stop you from going for cases with him either? In fact I encouraged it.”

John looked at her thoughtfully as she continued, voice pleading now as her hand tightened on his, “John, _nothing_ needs to change. You and Sherlock can be with each other. All I want and probably all Kesh wants is that you both give _us_ the priority, don’t exclude us.”

John looked down as he thought.

_Oh Mary, Kesh has priority all right. You haven’t seen how Sherlock looks at him. He called Kesh his heart, his soul. I’m  just someone who hangs around him. He doesn’t need me anymore, he has Kesh….._

Mary looked at her silent husband.

_Oh John, it’s not that hard. Why can’t you see that you can have both? Why can’t you see the pain you are putting me through, putting Sherlock through...._

John took a deep breath and looked up at Mary, his voice subdued, “I’ve been a bit of a dick, haven’t I?”

She nodded with tears in her eyes. He continued, “I’m trying to work on it, Mary. It’s not like I have much of a choice, do I?”

 

                                                                                ***

Mycroft hurried out to the car as it stopped in the driveway. He stood and watched as Sherlock got out and helped Mrs Hudson out. Kesh climbed out of the other door. With a smile on his face, Mycroft stepped forward to Kesh, “Welcome to my home, Kesh.” He nodded and added, “Mrs Hudson, Sherlock.”

Kesh smiled, “I hope we aren’t too late. There was far more traffic than we had anticipated.”

“It’s not important. Please, come this way. Mum and dad are waiting to meet you.”

Kesh looked around to take in the manicured lawns in the light of the setting sun and then looked up at the two storey white stucco-fronted house of impressive proportions. They followed Mycroft in.

 

                                                                                ***

Sherlock’s parents stood in the living room, waiting as instructed by Mycroft. His father fidgeted while his mother stood still, thinking.

_Mycroft has told us so many wonderful things about Kesh. He said that finally Sherlock has found someone worthy of him. Let me see……._

As the others entered, her eyes stared at Kesh unblinkingly, following his movements as they handed their coats to Mycroft. Leading Kesh gently by the arm, Sherlock stepped forward towards his parents, a confident, warm smile on his face. He hugged them briefly and then stood aside. He looked at Kesh as he said quietly, “Mum, dad, this is Kesh.”

Sherlock’s mother looked at Sherlock…

_Oh my child…… you are in love. I’ve never seen this expression on your face before. He makes you happy….._

Both parents looked at Kesh as he stood quietly, allowing their scrutiny.

Sherlock’s mother finally extended her hand as she said pleasantly, “It is good to finally meet you, Kesh. Please call me Violet.”

Kesh looked at her outstretched hand and then back into her eyes. A disappointed look flashed across his face. After a while, he folded his palms to together in front of his chest in a gesture of _namaste._

“I’m sorry, ma’am. In my culture we don’t call our parents by their name. And we don’t shake hands with them. We touch their feet and seek their blessing. I know this is foreign to you, but if you permit me, just this _once_ , that is what I would like to do.”

Violet was taken aback as she searched Kesh’s face for pretense, ostentation. All she could see was sincerity, respect, reverence. With a soft voice she asked, “And what should I do when you touch my feet?”

Equally softly Kesh answered, “Put your hand on my head and bless me. The way you would have undoubtedly blessed Mycroft and Sherlock countless times in your heart over the years.”

Violet stared at him speechlessly and then quickly glanced at Sherlock. Sherlock looked at her, pride in his eyes ….. _Yes, Mummy, this is my Kesh…. this is what he is….._

She looked back at Kesh, gaze soft as she said with simple dignity, “Okay.”

Kesh bent down to touch the feet of Sherlock’s dad first, who after a quick glance at his wife patted Kesh’s shoulder awkwardly.

He then came close to Violet, eyes moist, face vulnerable, defenceless. He bent down to touch her feet. An overwhelmed Violet put her hand gently on his head. Kesh closed his eyes for a heartbeat, as though absorbing the touch into himself. As he straightened, she pulled him closer by the arm. She held with his face with both her hands and looked searchingly into his eyes……….. _You humble, loving man. Yes, Mycroft was right. Sherlock is in safe hands now. How did my Sherlock find you?_

She bent it down to press a soft kiss on his forehead. She said in a voice thick with emotion, “Welcome to the family, Kesh…..  You are everything I could have hoped for my Sherlock.”

Sherlock looked on, a proud contented look as he stepped closer to Kesh and slipped an arm around his waist. He kissed Kesh’s forehead lightly, “Let’s go inside, Kesh.”

Mrs Hudson sniffed into her handkerchief. Mycroft cleared his throat, “Yes, it’s time to _mingle_ I’m afraid, Kesh.”

 

                                                                                ***  


Sherlock walked towards Molly as she entered the large formal living room.

_He had stood protectively by Kesh’s side while Mycroft introduced him to various and sundry family members and bureaucrats from the government. After half an hour he realized that Kesh was more than capable of holding his own. He whispered discretely into Kesh’s ear, “I’m around. Look for me if you need me.” Kesh nodded as he turned back to the old lady who had him firmly by the arm, “So, Kesh, _tell_ me more about India. My father was posted in the colonies in 1944 you see……”_

Molly looked lovely in a dark navy blue _salwaar kameez_ , with tasteful silver embroidery and a silver necklace with a single pearl pendant and matching earrings.

She smiled at Sherlock as he approached and said, “Welcome, Molly.”

“Sorry I’m late. The party is in full swing, I see,” she giggled nervously.

“Let me get you a drink. White wine?”

Molly nodded and looked around at the many groups around the room, the sound of chatter and laughter creating a festive atmosphere. Around one of the lounge chairs was Sherlock’s mother, Mrs Hudson, Lestrade’s wife and two other women talking and laughing. In another corner John and Lestrade were talking with Anthea and two other women.

Her eyes searched for Kesh. They settled on the only Indian she saw.

Mycroft stood by his side in a group of five other men, all dressed formally. He seemed to be introducing Kesh to them. Her eyes widened as she took in the tall elegant figure, the beautiful face, the dimpled smile and twinkling eyes. He stood holding a drink and was saying something. Mycroft stood quietly and listened, with his head bowed in attention. Suddenly Mycroft threw his head back and let out a delighted laugh and others in the group joined in the laughter.

Sherlock kept glancing at Kesh even as he walked back to Molly, drink in hand.

Accepting the glass of wine, she gestured towards Kesh.

“That’s Kesh, isn’t it, Sherlock?”

“Yes.”

“He’s gorgeous.”

“Yes.”

They stood sipping their wine looking at Kesh’s group. Kesh glanced up and caught Sherlock’s eye who inclined his head slightly. After a few seconds Kesh excused himself from his group and approached Sherlock and Molly.

“Kesh, this is Molly Hooper. Molly, this is Kesh,” said Sherlock simply.

Molly smiled nervously. She folded her hands into a Namaste and bowed her head slightly. Kesh let out a pleased laugh as he did namaste back to her.

She grinned, her voice self-conscious, “I bought this dress in an Indian store last week. The lady who owns the shop taught me how to do this, she said this is the way Indians greet each other.”

Kesh smiled warmly, “Did she tell you what it means?”

“No. What does it mean?” _God, he's just stunning....love his voice....and so friendly....._

“Well. It can mean one of two things. It is a Sanskrit word you see and Sanskrit is quite a magical language. The meaning alters depending on how you break up the word. For instance, _Namah_ means ‘I bow’ and _Te_ means ‘you’. So Namaste means ‘ _I bow to you’_.”

Molly looked fascinated, “Wow! What is the other meaning?”

Kesh looked pleased, “ _Na_ means ‘not’, _Ma_ means ‘me’, _Te_ means ‘you’. So it means ‘ _Not me, but you’_. When you do it with this feeling, it erodes your ego.”

Molly was quiet as she reflected on this. Finally she said, “That is beautiful, Kesh. She did not tell me that….. India must be a very spiritual place.”

“You must visit sometime, Molly,” said Kesh.

“I will sometime,” Molly nodded. Her smile was cheeky as she turned to Sherlock before looking back at Kesh, “But most of all I want to attend an Indian wedding.”

Kesh laughed, “Sherlock told you about that?”

“Oh yes!” Her grin was delighted, mischievous. “The clothes, the food, the laughing and the crying.”

Kesh moved closer to her and asked excitedly, “Did he tell you what he was wearing?”

“N--o,” she looked at Sherlock accusingly.

“A Sherwani, Molly,” said Kesh. He put his hand on his heart, “He looked divine. No human could possibly look that beautiful. He looked like a divine being. I could hardly breathe.”

Molly squeaked in excitement, “Oh, I wish I had seen him. He _is_ rather good looking, isn’t he?”

They both looked up at a blushing, annoyed Sherlock who rolled his eyes. Kesh smirked, his voice adoring, “Oh, he looks devastating! Wait, I have a few hundred photographs.” He reached into his coat pocket to remove his phone.

Sherlock rolled his eyes some more then smiled indulgently at the two of them, shaking his head in mock exasperation. He muttered under his breath, “Oh good, now there are _two_ of you…. Excuse me.”

Molly and Kesh watched his retreating back for a few seconds.

_This Kesh, he’s…. nice…. He makes me feel comfortable…… I don’t feel nervous around him. And gosh, he loves Sherlock. I’m happy for Sherlock._

Kesh turned back to Molly, “I hope you don’t think I’m too forward. It’s just that of all the people Sherlock talked of, I feel closest to you.”

Molly blinked in surprise, “Why?”

Kesh smiled self consciously, “You share my awe of him. He is _….. how_ is he even possible? So brilliant, so beautiful, such a strong personality, such a presence…. Those eyes, that face, that _incredible_ voice…….”

Molly laughed and moved closer to Kesh, “You _are_ in love aren’t you?” she said delightedly. Dropping her voice to a whisper, “So tell me, what is 'Sherlock in love' like?” She prodded him with an elbow, “Does he write poems?” They laughed.

They stood talking, heads close together as Sherlock stood afar and watched, eyes crinkled with fond amusement.

 

                                                                                ***

John stood, drink in hand, polite interest on his face as he looked around. Lestrade had gone to talk to his wife. Molly was being monopolized by Sherlock’s mother and Mrs Hudson, who were admiring her dress. Sherlock was talking to his dad and couple of other men.

_Sherlock looks so happy. Kesh has been accepted into the family, by the look of things. Funny, I didn’t even get to see his parents until he came back, that too by chance……._

“Mind if I join you?” a soft voice broke into his reverie.

Startled, John looked into Kesh’s warm brown eyes.

“No, of course……. Good party, this.”

Kesh looked at John intently for a bit, then said, “John, we haven’t really had a chance to talk…… perhaps there are things that we need to say to each other. Would you walk with me?” He gestured towards the front door.

_What does he want….._

John followed him, having no real reason to refuse.

 

                                                                                ***

 

Sherlock’s sharp eyes watched as John followed Kesh out of the front door. He moved across the room and towards the door, unobtrusively. He watched Kesh and John’s retreating backs as they walked out into the lawn, moving forward to follow them. Suddenly, Mycroft was by his side and stopped him with a gesture.

“Let them talk, Sherlock. Kesh does not need protection.”

“I’m aware of that,” said Sherlock shortly. They stood thoughtfully for a while, before Sherlock continued, “John is not ready. He’s not ready to hear Kesh’s level of wisdom yet, Mycroft.”

“Then Kesh will bring himself to John’s level and talk to him. He will talk in a language that John understands.” Mycroft said confidently. He looked at Sherlock, one eyebrow raised, “I trust Kesh. _Why_ don’t you?”

Sherlock glanced sharply, “I do trust him.”

“Then stop worrying. Worry and trust don’t go together. You can have one or the other.”

A surprised look passed over Sherlock’s face, “When did you get so wise, Mycroft?”

Mycroft put on his haughtiest look, “I was _always_ wise. People don’t notice.”

Sherlock grinned and after a few more seconds of posturing, Mycroft joined him. They watched as Kesh and John disappeared from view behind the trees.

Sherlock took a deep breath, “Let’s go in, Mycroft. Kesh will know what to do.”

 

                                                                                ***

John sat stiffly on the lawn chair looking down at his drink, as he waited. Kesh settled opposite him on a large ornamental rock and watched him quietly.

After a while, John let out an audible deep breath, “So. Talking..... I’m not….. I don’t do that sort of thing very well.” He looked around vaguely, hesitant to meet Kesh’s direct unwavering gaze.

The silence grew heavy, as finally John looked at Kesh. There was a challenge in his voice, “What do you want to talk about?”

Kesh held his gaze for a few seconds and then said gently, “Your fears. Your anger. Your doubts.”

John's jaw clenched, as he said through gritted teeth, his tone terse, “Oh yeah! Who said I’m afraid? And what the hell do you know about my anger or doubts?”

He took a few deep breaths, frowning. Kesh sat looking at him quietly as the silence stretched.

Finally John hissed, “Did _HE_ tell you? He’s not the easiest man to live with, you know? You’ll have to tolerate all his moods, his tantrums. And he will still never share his thoughts…… Did he tell you that I used to follow him around like a faithful dog. His sidekick, his blogger. I helped him with cases, I blogged about him so he could get more clients, I managed the house…..” John broke off, hands clenched tightly around his glass.

Kesh’s voice was deceptively mild as he asked, “And you did it all for him, John? Only for him? Out of the selflessness of your heart?”

“What do you mean? Who else did I do it for?”

Kesh’s voice cracked into the silence like a whip, uncompromising, “For _yourself._ You did it for yourself, John. You needed to live in London. Life in the country side would have meant a slow death through boredom and ennui. _You_ needed to live in London and could not afford to do it by yourself. _You_ needed something to occupy yourself with, have an outlet for your need for excitement and thrills. You did it, at least in some measure, for yourself.”

John was quiet as he thought about this. Eventually he mumbled, “I helped him with cases. I saved his life.”

“Has he ever saved your life, John? He jumped off a building so that you could be safe. He stayed away from his home for two years, running like a fugitive, chasing shadows, like a bloodhound from one country to another. He slept out on the streets, he got tortured, he shed his blood..... all so that _you_ could be safe. How can you make it sound like you were the only one to give, and he just took without giving anything in return? Have you seen the scars?"

“Yes,” was the hushed reply.

Both men were quiet for some time, lost in thought. John sat looking down, nostrils flaring as he thought. Kesh’s face was calm as he watched the play of anger and betrayal and confusion on John’s face.

Finally, flashing his eyes at Kesh, John said in clipped tones, “I believed in him, Kesh. When no one else did, _I_ believed in him.”

Kesh’s gaze softened, “You believed in him, John. And he believed in Sherlock _and_ John. _Together_. So passionately, that he came to believe it to be true, lasting, permanent.”

John cried out defensively, “ _What_ was I supposed to do? Wait forever?”

“Certainly not, John,” came the prompt reply. “Not if you did not feel the same intense love for him as he felt and _still_ feels for you. Pretense has no role in this sort of relationship.”

John looked down at his hands, “He came back. I was about to get married….”

“And did he _ever_ try to sway you from your vows? Did he _ever_ ask you to leave Mary and come back to Baker Street?”

“No.”

“Your wife shot him. Did he _ever_ blame you for that? Did he _ever_ try to punish you or Mary for that? Did he not do _everything_ in his power to keep your marriage intact?”

“Yes……. But Sherlock said it was not a kill shot…..”

Kesh shook his head, “But it was _a_ shot. It could have missed and killed him. It would have hurt. He spent months in hospital recovering from it, didn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“And then he turned around again to help you when you and Mary and your life together was threatened. He killed the one threat to you both, Magnussen. He loves you so much that he has sacrificed everything, his _Work_ which means everything to him, his home, his country, his way of living....... Not once, but _TWICE_. When he shot Magnussen, he knew the repercussions, he _knew_ what would happen to him….. Are you even aware that he was being sent to a suicide mission to Eastern Europe, not on a mission for Mycroft?  Fortunately, Moriarty’s fake telecast allowed him to return.”

“No…” whispered John horrified.

Kesh’s expression was unyielding as he continued, “You sit here like a petty human being, _clinging_ to some anger over something that happened three years ago. You sit here feeling _afraid_ because you think you have fallen in his priorities, because your way of life with him is threatened. You sit here resenting me, without caring what it means _for him_ to be loved. You sit here with your fears and insecurities, without sparing a thought for the man you call your friend, without being happy for him in his happiness.”

John looked stricken as Kesh continued, relentlessly. “Did you not see how torn he was the past year? Did he ever complain to you that he missed you, that he took it hard, his fall in your priorities? Did he even let you glimpse at how unhappy, dejected he was, as he tried to rejoice in your happiness? _Can_ you even see his greatness? You, who are Sherlock’s best friend, _can_ you even see who he is? Or are you so blinded by your resentment and selfishness that you cannot see it?" Kesh's voice rose, "Sherlock Holmes does not have a single petty bone in his body. He is too _VAST_ to harbor any anger or resentment towards you. Can you not see that? You have known him for years, you are his best friend!”

Kesh stood up abruptly, staring out into the distance, as he struggled to regain control over his emotions. He turned and looked at John’s pensive, frowning face. His gaze softened.

His voice was gentle again, “John, to even know a great man is a blessing. To be loved by a great man, to hold the regard of a great man as you do, is the _greatest_ blessing. Sherlock loves you, he has always loved you. He has such a big heart that he will keep giving you the benefit of the doubt, keep trying to keep your friendship intact, no matter the cost to him." He walked closer, a plea in his voice, "Recognize this, meet him halfway, save your friendship. You are married now. You need to be faithful to that as well. A choice has been made…….. Do you see that with your misguided thoughts you are hurting the two people who love you the most- the woman you married and your best friend?”

John looked up at Kesh, his eyes moist. He shook his head in disbelief, “ _Why_? Why are you doing this? He loves you. You can just ease me out of the picture and be happy together. Why are you doing this?”

Kesh answered simply, “Because….. above all else in this world to me, is Sherlock’s happiness. You and your friendship with him are very important to him, they make him happy. And so it is important to me.”

John's voice held a desperate urgency as he asked, “Don’t you feel….. _jealous_?”

Kesh shook his head as he gave a small smile, “John, jealously is felt when you want what someone else has. To me, Sherlock is like…… the _Sun_. To talk of ownership with regards to him is impossible in my mind. It is like trying to take ownership of the Sun. I feel grateful for his presence. I love basking in his warmth and attention…… But John, the Sun belongs to neither you nor me. And Sherlock’s heart……. It’s bigger than the Sun. It has more than enough space for both of us. He loves both you and me. In some different ways and in _many_ similar ways.”

John sat speechless, stunned. And then watched with alarm as Kesh’s eyes filled with tears. Kesh's voice was subdued, “I _know_ it is not my place to say the things I have said to you, John. Forgive me. I _know_ I’ve overstepped my boundaries. But please think about what I have said. Put your resentment and your insecurities aside. Please, see what you have……. The love of the woman you married and the greatest man I’ve ever met. Open your heart and mind……” His face crumpled as a tear dripped down, “ _Please_ , you’re hurting Sherlock…… please _stop_ hurting Sherlock.”

John looked on with a wretched expression on his face, mind numb, unable to move, wide unblinking eyes staring at Kesh as he stood with his head bowed, tears falling over his cheeks.

Finally Kesh wiped his face, “I’ve said everything I had to say. Now it is for you to think, to decide. I’m sorry, John, for saying things that may have hurt you.”

He started to walk back to the house.

He had barely walked ten steps when John’s voice stopped him. “Kesh, could you give Mycroft my apologies. I don’t think I can come in there right now. I need….. need to be alone.”

Kesh nodded as he walked away, without turning back.

 

                                                                                ***

 

It was almost two in the morning when persistent knocks on the door of 221B woke Sherlock up. Instantly alert, he looked around. Gently removing his arm from under Kesh’s head, he stood up and grabbed his robe. He put it on as he walked out, flicking lights on as he approached the front door, his sleepy eyes blinking to adjust to the brightness.

He threw open the door. John stood there.

“John….” He frowned and stepped back to let John enter.

John took just a couple of steps in and stopped.

Sherlock’s perceptive eyes took in the sight of his friend.

_Has walked for a few hours….. drained expression in his miserable eyes, hands open, palms facing forward in surrender, gray haggard face twisted with emotional turmoil but a determined set of jaw as though holding himself together by sheer force of will…… Oh John, what’s wrong….._

Sherlock’s hand instinctively came up, he stepped forward. “John……….”

John lifted one hand to stop him.

Sherlock froze.

“Please, Sherlock…..” voice hoarse from disuse. “Let me say what I have come to say.”

Sherlock took a deep breath, his face calm, impassive as he rapidly went inwards and centered himself.

John seemed to be struggling to find words. Sherlock waited quietly, keen accepting gaze on John as he waited for whatever was to come.

John took a deep breath, “Kesh talked to me earlier. He…… he doesn’t pull his punches, does he?”

_Oh John, he can be merciless when required…. I know…._

John’s lips quivered slightly, “He made me see how wrong I’ve been… muddled in my thinking…. It felt brutal when he said it…. but I’ve been thinking about what he said, about what’s at stake here. Sherlock, I’ve been walking around for hours, thinking.” His jaw clenched, his smile was wan, “It appears I’ve been an idiot, a selfish jerk who didn't see anything beyond what I was feeling….. I never realized.... I never thought about _you_ , about what you’ve done for me…. about how much pain I’ve caused you by my actions, my attitude, my words since you came back. About how much we mean to each other, about our friendship.”

He paused, looking down, struggling for composure, nostrils flaring with emotion.

Sherlock stood quietly watchful, alert.

Eventually John nodded to himself and looked up. He squared his shoulders, chin jutting out, his body coming subconsciously into parade rest. He met Sherlock’s gaze unflinchingly, eyes bright with unshed tears, “I was wrong. I’m…. I’m sorry, Sherlock. For being selfish, for failing to see the significance of your sacrifices, your love. For failing to recognize how true your love and friendship have always been.Will you....." His voice broke as he swallowed back his tears, "Will you give me a second chance to be your friend? Please, Sherlock....Will you forgive me?”

Sherlock looked on, overwhelmed and emotional. He spread his arms and whispered in a hoarse voice into the silent night, “Come here.”

John stepped forward into his embrace and let himself sag as strong arms held him protectively close. Soundless sobs racked his body as he allowed himself to pull strength from Sherlock’s deep voice as it murmured, “There is nothing to forgive, John.....It’s alright now….. let go, I’ve got you….. there’s nothing to forgive…. I’ve got you, John…. it’s going to be alright now……”

Sherlock rested his cheek on John’s head as he tightened his arms and one hand cradling his head. He looked up at Kesh, who had been watching quietly from the kitchen. Tears fell from Sherlock's eyes onto John’s head, he smiled through his tears at Kesh, in relief, in gratitude. Kesh smiled gently in satisfaction and turned. He walked back to the bedroom, leaving the two friends alone.

They stood there, in each other's arms for a long time. John clutching to Sherlock’s robe like it was a lifeline, as he let the tension drain from him. He drank in the feel of warmth, Sherlock’s soft kisses on his head as though erasing very thought from his tired mind. Sherlock’s embrace did not slacken until John started to draw back. He held John's head in his hands, bending down to place a gentle kiss on his forehead, before he allowed John to step back. 

Wiping his red rimmed eyes with his hands, John looked at Sherlock and laughed self consciously, “I…. I need to go home. Mary will be waiting. Rosa has a fever and I haven’t checked on them for a  few hours.”

Sherlock murmured quietly, “Don’t be absurd, John. It’s past two in the morning. You’re dead on your feet. Sleep in the upstairs bedroom. I’ll let Mary know you’ll be home in the morning.”

He watched John go upstairs as he picked up his phone.

_It’s going to be alright from now on. You have your husband back. I have my friend back.- – SH._

                                   

                                                                                ***

 

Kesh flicked on the bedside lamp as Sherlock entered the bedroom. He took in Sherlock’s tear stained face and sat up to rest his back against the headboard.

“Come here,” he said softly.

Sherlock came and sat curled up against Kesh’s chest, head resting on Kesh’s arm. His upturned face looked at Kesh in wonder, as tears fell one after another from his beautiful blue-gray eyes. Kesh watched his face lovingly; it was though all the love contained in the universe were pouring out of him and bathing Sherlock in love.

Sherlock ran his fingers over Kesh’s face lightly and murmured, “You extraordinary man….. do you remember once in the throes of passion I said, _you could never hurt me, Kesh, you were born to take my pain away_ ….. You took it all away, Kesh…… Every single thing that has troubled me, hurt me, you’ve taken it away……”

Sherlock rested his head on Kesh’s chest and let the strong heartbeat and loving touches calm him down as his tears flowed. After some time he rubbed his eyes on Kesh’s night shirt and looked up again, moist lips parted. Kesh bent down to kiss him gently, marveling as always at their velvety softness. He drew back and smiled, “I love you, Sherlock.”

Sherlock smiled back, “I love you too, Kesh……. my Kesh.”

 

 

                                                                                                                To be continued………

 

 


	23. Uttam Purusha- The Higher Self

_One month later......._

Kesh’s soft tones rang out clearly in the predawn silence in the living room of 221B. Sherlock sat opposite him on the ground, mirroring his cross legged posture. Alert eyes trained on Kesh’s face as he listened intently.

“Sherlock, we have talked about and you have practiced, the sheaths that cover the true self. It is very helpful in meditation, but it is also useful to think this way to recognize your Higher Self. Let me draw you this word picture. Imagine a point with concentric circles around it. Imagine that that point is brilliantly illuminated and it is your Higher Self. Imagine the circles from inside out- the intellectual sheath, the mind sheath, the vital sheath, the body sheath. Imagine a brilliant ray of consciousness moving from one sheath to the other and illuminating it. “

“As the consciousness identifies with each sheath, it starts thinking in terms of that sheath. So when that ray of consciousness identifies with the _body_ , I think _\--_ I am fat, I am male, I am dark etc. When that ray of consciousness identifies with the _vital_ sheath, I think-- I am tired, I am lazy, I am full of energy. When that ray of consciousness identifies with the _mind_ sheath I think—I am happy, I am sad, I am angry, I am worried. When that ray of consciousness identifies with the _intellect_ sheath, I think--- I am clever, I am dumb, I am creative.”

Kesh’s voice rose in cadence and emphasis every time he said, “ _I am_.”

“These identities keep changing, Sherlock. What stays constant is that ray of Consciousness. The adjectives and nouns change but the “I AM” stays constant. By and by as I watch this play and learn to differentiate the sheaths, I come to a startling realization. I start realizing that I am _not_ the sheath, I am that ray of Consciousness. And slowly I start realizing I am not even that ray of consciousness, I am the center of that circle, the very _source_ of consciousness. That I am pure awareness, I am not bound by or ruled by any of those sheaths.”

Kesh took a deep breath, his eyes blazing as he gazed at Sherlock. “That consciousness, that brilliant awareness is what I am really, _the Higher Self_ , the inner Divinity...... whatever you choose to call it. I realize that _**I am that ‘I AM’**._

 Sherlock stared at Kesh with a deep intensity in his eyes as he reflected on this. After a few seconds, his eyes closed spontaneously as he slowly moved within, internalizing the words and their implications. Kesh watched the still figure, the serene face with a satisfied smile, before closing his own eyes.

They meditated in complete silence.

It was much later that Mrs Hudson came to the apartment with warm scones. Seeing Sherlock and Kesh in the now familiar posture, she moved silently into the kitchen and set the food down. She stood for a while watching them, bemused and fond. Then shaking her head, she went downstairs again.

                                                                                ***

 

John wolfed down his sandwich as he watched Sherlock, who was drumming his fingers impatiently on the café table, glancing every few seconds at his phone which lay over it. They were sitting in a café near St Barts, waiting for results of some lab investigations that Sherlock had set in motion.

Wiping his mouth with a tissue, John ordered some coffee before saying, “Has Kesh told you that he talked to me two days ago?”

The drumming stopped as Sherlock pinned John with his gaze, eyes narrowed, “Oh?”

John nodded, “Yeah, he had an interesting offer for me. He has been speaking to Bernie, Bertha, Alfie and some of the other homeless network gang. He was interested in how they received medical help when they needed it. They told him they were reluctant to seek help when sick or injured, until it got really bad. Especially if it meant getting involved with cops.”

John thanked the waitress who came with his coffee and then continued, “He wants to set up a medical clinic for them in the city. He wants me to help him set it up. He’s already spoken to Mycroft about clearances and stuff……and he’s spoken to..... I think to one Sri Lankan and three Indian doctors….. freshers just out of medical school, but willing to come and work for the potential experience and of course, for the money.”

He stirred the sugar in his coffee as Sherlock looked on with a dawning comprehension in his eyes.

“Anyway…. He talked to me. He asked me if I would be interested in joining the group, work one to two days a week, paid work, as a senior doctor of the team. So that I can help train the others and be available for phone advice when they need it.”

John paused to sip his coffee, as a slow smile spread across Sherlock’s face.

“He said I could chose to work on Fridays and then stay over at Baker’s Street to help you on the weekends. And that Mary and Rosa could join us and we could all have lunch the next day before heading home if you weren’t too busy…… I spoke to Mary. She thinks it is a brilliant idea. I get a chance to practice some quality useful medicine. And they get a chance to come to the city often. And it saves me the commute to join you on the weekends when you need me….. But I didn’t want to commit to anything, until I had talked to you…….. of course it will take a few months to set it up…….So, what do you think?” John smiled at Sherlock eagerly as he waited for his reply.

Sherlock’s eyes crinkled with fondness _. Oh Kesh……. You clever, clever man….._

“I think it is a great idea, John,” said Sherlock with a warm smile. John grinned back in relief. Both looked down at the phone as it buzzed.

“Finally,” hissed Sherlock.

 

                                                                ***

 

“Kesh,” Sherlock called out the moment he entered 221B.

“In here, Sherlock,” came the response from the bedroom.

Sherlock listened to Kesh's soft tones, as he toed off his shoes and rolled off his socks. He strode into the bedroom to find Kesh sitting cross legged on the bed with the computer facing him, talking to Uddhav via Skype.

Uddhav was saying, “The brick work on the school is all done. They are putting the cement and plaster, they’re working as fast as they can. Mr Rathod has been hounding them. Meanwhile, they’re conducting classes in the marriage hall for the smaller kids. And the older ones, they are studying outside under the trees. We are getting some pandals built for them as well. It’s all going well. The kids are finding it very novel, so they are having a good time and the teachers are coping brilliantly. Don’t worry, Kesh.”

Sherlock climbed on the bed to sit behind Kesh. He rested his chin on Kesh’s shoulder, one arm around Kesh's waist. He grinned at Uddhav.

Uddhav grinned back, delighted. “Sherlock! How are you? Kesh said you were out on a case.”

Sherlock waved a dismissive hand, “Barely a five. _Dull_.”

“Huh?!”

“Never mind that, Uddhav. It’s good to see you! As you can see, Kesh is fine. I’m looking after him,” Sherlock said, hugging Kesh from behind.

“Well you better look after him. Otherwise we will set Meera on you,” Uddhav laughed. “Actually she is with mum, I’ll go and get her. Talk to Vedant in the meantime.”

Vedant came on the screen, hands folded in namaste, as he peered at the screen with wide eyes. “Hrishikesh bhaiyya?” he asked, in disbelief.

“Vedant! How are you?” asked Kesh.

Vedant stared some more, eyes flicking from the keyboard to the screen. Finally, he took a deep breath, “We are good, Hrishikesh bhaiyya, Sherlock Sir. Bhaiyya, don’t worry about anything. We are looking after everything over here. Uddhav bhaiyya is looking after everything.” He peered closely at the screen, “Are you eating well, bhaiyya? You look like you have lost some weight.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “He is fine, Vedant. Don’t worry about him.”

Vedant grinned widely, “Of course he is fine. He is with you, isn’t he?” He turned as Meera pushed him aside.

Meera sat looking at the screen, eyes darting over their faces as tears filled her eyes. Slowly she raised a hand to touch the screen, caressing it gently, as though she were really running her fingers over Kesh's and Sherlock's face. Her voice was hushed, emotional, “We miss you, Hrishikesh bhaiyya, Sherlock Sir.”

Kesh swallowed, a lump in his throat, mute.

Sherlock gently entwined one hand with Kesh and raised their hands to touch the screen. He said huskily, “We miss you all too.”

Manjula giggled as she pushed Meera aside, “Stop crying, Meera didi. Let me see them too.”

She screamed with excitement as soon as she saw Sherlock on the screen, “Sherlock sir!” She clapped her hands, “You know we are studying outdoors because the school is still being built, and we are the big kids. The little ones are studying in the marriage hall ….. and …and Mr Rathod is taking tuitions for Meera didi. She can write the entire alphabet now and even small words!...... and….and I stood fifth in my class tests……” She continued excitedly, as Sherlock and Kesh listened fondly.

They talked to everyone for a long time.

Afterwards Sherlock held Kesh in his arms as Kesh buried his face in the hollow of his neck. He murmured, “You gave up your home, your life for me, Kesh…. Do you want to go back? We could go back to India. I don’t mind where I live as long as it is with you.”

Kesh shook his head quietly and melted even further into Sherlock. Sherlock tightened his arms around his friend as he held him for a long time. He kissed his head repeatedly and murmured over and over, “I love you, Kesh…… I love you so much.”

 

                                                                                ***

 

“Sally, is he always like this?” Kesh’s voice was hushed, awed.

Sally's gaze was keen as she took it all in..... the glazed eyes, the stunned worshipping expression. She smiled. “Yes, Kesh. Sherlock is always like this on a crime scene.”

Kesh had been staring at Sherlock for some time now. Sherlock was waltzing around the room, his coat swinging out with every turn. He crouched down from time to time, his lean frame creasing the designer clothes elegantly, exquisite eyes blazing as they darted from one focal point to another, large hands and long delicate fingers waving and pointing as he talked, lips moving rapidly to elucidate a stream of deductions as his mouth struggled to keep up with the rapidly firing neurons of his phenomenal brain.

Lestrade, Sally, some other officers and forensic technicians listened silently, periodically asking questions.

Kesh’s eyes drank in every move, every flick of annoyance and triumph on Sherlock’s stunning face. He stood still and stared as if he had seen a vision, his heart wanting to leap out of his chest, hands clenched into fists, struggling to keep his desire and arousal under check.

 

_Earlier at 221B…._

_Lestrade asked, “Will you come?” inclining his head questioningly._

_Sherlock, still in his night clothes, furrowed his brows as he considered. Finally he said, “I’ll follow in a few minutes. Text me the address.”_

_Kesh came out of the kitchen and looked at Lestrade with a hopeful smile. “Greg, can I come and watch? Please? I’ve always wanted to see Sherlock at a crime scene.”_

_Even as a doubtful Lestrade opened his mouth to respond, Sherlock smiled up at Kesh reassuringly, “You can come, Kesh. Get ready, we’ll leave together.”_

_He turned to quirk a challenging eyebrow at Lestrade, steel in his eyes. Lestrade closed his mouth._

Lestrade pen flew over his pad, pen racing to keep up with Sherlock’s speech.

Sherlock glanced up at Kesh. His eyes narrowed as he took it all in; the hungry dazed eyes, the fully dilated pupils, the rapid shallow breaths, the pulse hammering in his neck, the clenched fists. _Oh Kesh……._

Buttoning his coat, he murmured, “That should be enough for an arrest, Lestrade.”

He walked towards Kesh, whispering as he brushed past him, “Home _, now_ ". He walked out of the room, Kesh following him closely.

 

                                                                                ***

Racing up the stairs of 221B, Sherlock waited for Kesh to enter, before closing and bolting the door. Silently they stripped off their coats and shoes and then they stood looking at each other.

Kesh was looking at Sherlock with ravenous eyes, his entire being vibrating with naked arousal and need. The fond amusement in Sherlock’s eyes slowly changed to a smouldering heat as his gaze flicked over Kesh.

“What do you want, Kesh?” he asked, voice husky.

“You,” was the hushed answer as Kesh stepped forward to stand close to Sherlock. He brought up a hand to tangle his fingers in Sherlock’s curls and tugged, pulling Sherlock closer till their lips were hovering over each other. "That was the _most erotic_ sight I’ve ever seen……” He brought their lips together with bruising force as with a groan his tongue invaded Sherlock’s mouth. He moved his mouth, kissing and caressing Sherlock’s soft, pliant lips which moved submissively under his assault. One hand kneaded that plush ass as he pulled their groins close and rubbed their erections together. He unbuttoned Sherlock’s shirt, kissing every exposed part, torn between a slow sensual unveiling of the object of his desire and an urgent ripping off the clothes. He bent to suck and lick each nipple in broad swathes with his flat tongue and then removed the shirt and threw it aside.

One hand holding Kesh's lips to his chest, Sherlock’s head fell back as he moaned, “Kesh…….”

Kesh led Sherlock to the sofa. “How do they not realize how lucky they are? To be a witness to your brilliance everyday…..” He went on his knees in front of Sherlock.

“I am the luckiest person in the world though. Because I get to come home with you,” he murmured as he claimed Sherlock’s lips again. “You make me wish I were a poet…. or a painter…. You drive me _insane_ with desire…… You _fill_ my senses, Sherlock,” Kesh said, voice hoarse.

He leaned back as he took the vision before him. Sherlock sat half naked on the sofa, tailored black figure hugging trousers fit snugly on the flat stomach. His legs were spread out to accommodate Kesh in between them. His nipples and lips were puffy and red, a pink flush of arousal coloured his razor sharp cheekbones, his intransigent soft curls were in disarray, blue-grey eyes hooded with desire, hunger as he listened to Kesh's adoring words. Kesh's eyes seemed to be filling up with Sherlock, his voice hushed with wonder, “Every day I feel grateful. I am grateful for my sense of sight…..To be able to see the most beautiful man in the world, every single day…… to see him naked in my arms.” 

Kesh leaned forward, whispering in Sherlock’s ear, “I feel grateful for my sense of touch, Sherlock…. That I can touch this exquisite body any time I want, wherever I want…. Kiss these soft delectable lips,” he said kissing those lips, “this unending graceful neck,” he bent down to nibble along the long neck…“these beautiful hands” he sucked on Sherlock’s fingers.

Sherlock gasped, starting to get desperate himself. “Kesh…..”

Touching Sherlock’s lips lightly Kesh continued, “I feel grateful for the gift of hearing….. that I can hear your deep stirring voice say my name, _Kesh….Kesh, I love you_ …. Do you even know what your voice does to me?” Kesh murmured

Pulling Kesh close, Sherlock nibbled on his earlobe, then dropped his voice down an octave, he murmured sensually into Kesh’s ear, “Kesh….. my Kesh….. only mine.”

Kesh shivered as goosebumps covered his body, feeling Sherlock’s breath in his ear.

Leaning back he stripped off Sherlock’s trousers and pants.

“I feel grateful for the sense of smell, Sherlock. I get to smell your body. It is the most arousing smell in the world to me.” He buried his face into Sherlock’s pubic curls, nostrils flaring against the rock hard erection as he breathed deeply.

Sherlock’s fingers tightened against Kesh’s head as he watched the face burrowed between his spread legs. “Kesh….. Oh God, Kesh….”

Holding the long thick length in his fist, Kesh placed soft kisses and suckled bruises all around on the delicate skin of his inner thighs, his crotch.

He looked up at Sherlock’s flushed needy expression. “And taste….. Sherlock, I am so grateful for the sense of taste…” he said placing light kisses along Sherlock’s cock from root to the head.

Sherlock gasped urgently, “Don’t tease, Kesh. Taste me _, now_ …..”

Opening his mouth wide, Kesh took Sherlock in his mouth. Sherlock’s head fell back on the sofa with a relieved sigh as he was swallowed down, lips and tongue and wetness and suction and love engulfing him. He gave himself up to wanton sensation as Kesh played with him skilfully, bobbing his head, licking and sucking and stroking as he pleasured Sherlock.

Tiny pants and moans of pleasure escaped Sherlock, as he enjoyed the decadence of Kesh’s mouth. Slowly he felt his orgasm build, the pressure in his pelvis coalescing, pulling his balls up. Both hands now on Kesh’s head he moved his hips plunging into the tight heat as he fucked upwards into Kesh. “Kesh…..” he gasped. “So good, your mouth, Kesh…… so good….. move faster Kesh…….more…..Kesh…..”

Fingers pulled roughly at Kesh’s hair as Kesh’s suction deepened, as he fucked up. And then....locked in mid arch, he gave a loud cry, “KESH…. I’m coming.” He buried himself deep and pulsed again and again to fill Kesh’s mouth with his release. Kesh swallowed around him, as Sherlock fell back on the sofa panting loudly. After a few moments, he popped himself out of Kesh’s mouth and bent himself forward to touch his sweat drenched forehead to Kesh’s. He gasped for air, panting puffs of breath against Kesh’s face as he slowly regained his senses and his breath.

“What do you need, Kesh?” he asked as he pulled Kesh up onto the sofa and lay him down. Nimble fingers made short work of stripping Kesh, as he looked into his desperate pleading eyes. “Where do you want to come? Inside me? My mouth? Hands?” he asked as he pulled Kesh's pants off.

“Sherlock…… please, Sherlock, I won’t last long. I’m almost there,” Kesh moaned loudly, writhing as Sherlock’s fist curled around him. “Yes, I can see that.” Sherlock chuckled softly as he looked at the hard engorged cock, veins standing up in sharp relief against the soft skin, wet and leaking with precum.

“Please, Sherlock….. talk to me,” begged Kesh as Sherlock stroked, firm long strokes. Kesh’s hips moved helplessly as he fucked Sherlock’s fist, hands pulling him closer, wide needy eyes fixed on Sherlock. Dropping his voice, Sherlock buried his face in Kesh’s neck and whispered into his ear, “You liked watching me so much. I am going to take you whenever I can with me. You can watch me and imagine coming home and fucking me. Only you get to have me, only you…..only you….. next time, I’ll ride you, Kesh…… it will feel so good….” His hands moved faster as he enjoyed Kesh’s whimpers. “So desperate for me. Come for me, Kesh.”

Digging his fingers into Sherlock’s arm, Kesh cried out, “Sherlock….. please…. Oh God, Sherlock…. I’m going to come…..” His eyes widened and his body convulsed as he climaxed, his come splattering over Sherlock’s hand and his chest, as he struggled to breathe.

He fell back panting and looked up at Sherlock’s smile, taking a moment. They laughed in delight. Sherlock rubbed noses with Kesh gently, “You lost control, so spectacularly today. I’ve never seen you so turned on. Maybe,I should take you to crime scenes more often, Kesh.”

 

                                                                                ***

 

Kesh was working furiously on his computer, when he heard the sounds of laughter downstairs. Two pairs of legs pounded up and then Sherlock and John burst into the open door. They removed their coats and jackets, panting and giggling. Kesh looked up, a welcoming smile on his face.

John was holding his tummy as he laughed, “Kesh, Sherlock is ridiculous. He stood up at the Yard and stared down the Chief Inspector today. He insulted him in the poshest tones you could imagine, using mile-long words, that I’d be surprised if he understood. Fuck, _I_ barely grasped some of them.”

Sherlock had disappeared into the bedroom. He came out swinging a towel, smirking, “He had it coming….. Going for a shower. I’m hungry, Kesh.”

Kesh swung up from the sofa and headed to the kitchen. John followed and opened the fridge, grabbing a bottle of chilled beer. he perched himself on a stool, filling Kesh in with the things Sherlock had said. Kesh listened and laughed as he put the pasta bake on reheat in the oven. His delighted exclamations, “Oh my God, he didn’t actually say that!” filled the kitchen.

They moved back to the living room as Kesh started gathering papers strewn all over. “I’m going to CERN in two days time, so I need to get my notes organised," he explained. "I'll be away for three weeks. Haven’t told Sherlock yet."

John nodded as he took another long sip.

“Kesh, I’ve talked to Mary, and today I talked to Sherlock about your plan for the clinic,” John smiled excitedly. “I would be happy to help out with your plans for the clinic.”

Kesh came forward to squeeze his arm, “I’m relieved, John. I’ll need lots of guidance. I don’t have Uddhav here to help me….. I can’t wait for you to meet Uddhav, John. He’s wonderful.”

“Yeah…. Sherlock was telling me about everyone in India. I feel like I know them now.”

Sherlock came out of the bathroom, rubbing his curls vigorously with a towel, hair sticking everywhere. He picked up some grapes and popped them in his mouth.

Taking another long sip, John asked, “Mind if I have a shower?”

Kesh jumped up, “Let me get you a fresh towel, John.”

He came back to find Sherlock peering at his notes.

“Come here,” Kesh said softly, leading Sherlock to the sofa. Sherlock sighed with contentment, exhaustion as he curled up against him, pulling Kesh down to bring their lips together. His lips moved, as he enjoyed in Kesh’s loving touches, his smell. Kesh stroked his hair and held him close, breathing him in.

After a while, he rubbed noses with Sherlock gently, “I’ve got to go to CERN day after tomorrow, Sherlock. For three weeks.”

Sherlock smiled and said in a quiet tone, “ _Evam astu_. I’ll miss you, my Kesh.”

 

                                                                ***

John came out after his quick shower. He passed through the kitchen to walk out to the living room. His steps froze as he took in the sight in front of him.

Sherlock lay across Kesh’s chest, holding his cheek against Kesh’s palm as he looked up, expression tender as he murmured something. Kesh looked down with a gentle smile curving his lips as he stroked Sherlock’s hair.

_Look at you, Sherlock! So loved, so cherished by this man…..I actually feel happy....happy that you have this, finally have someone who is crazy about you…. Someone good…no one deserves it more….you’ve been through so much….. how could I have resented this, grudged you this…..you both look so good together…… how lucky am I? A wonderful family waiting at home and the love of this man, my best friend, the best man that I know…. love him so much….. Kesh is lucky or maybe you are lucky to have found him…._

He cleared his throat as he came out, “Well, I’ll be off then.”

Sherlock straightened himself without a hint of self-consciousness, “Don’t be absurd, John! Have some dinner first.”

Kesh smiled, “We’ll talk about the clinic when I get back, John. I already have some people scouting for appropriate properties.”

“And I’ll start on a list of things that we’ll need to get organised,” John rubbed his hands briskly,as he sat on his chair.

They brainstormed as Sherlock worked at serving dinner in the kitchen.

 

                                                                ***

 

“Are you _sure_ this is okay?” John asked for the umpteenth time as he adjusted his jacket, looking into the mirror above the fireplace, turning this way and that.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “Stop fussing like a girl, John. I’ll be fine. Rosa will be fine.”

Mary came down from upstairs looking stunning in her new dress, her makeup flawless, a beaming smile on her face. John’s eyes widened in appreciation as she twirled around.

“You look beautiful,” he bent down to kiss her willing lips.

“You don’t look so bad yourself, soldier,” she responded, playfully swatting him on his behind.

Sherlock sighed in resignation as he picked up Rosa. “Come here, Rosa. Do _not_ look at them. Your parents have turned into randy teenagers.”

Mary checked her purse, “Don’t be like that, Sherlock. We haven’t gone out alone in the longest time. I fully intend to live it up tonight with my handsome husband.”

Sherlock lay down on the sofa, Rosa on his chest. Her pudgy hands whacked his face as she gurgled and lowered her open mouthed face to nibble at his nose. He laughed in delight.

Mary asked, “Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

Sherlock looked up sternly, “I’m going to _shoot_ the next person who asks me that. Go. Enjoy your night out.” He blew raspberries on Rosa’s tummy who let out peels of laughter. He grumbled, “Kesh is not here anyways. And the criminal classes of London have deserted me.”

“You’ll live,” Mary laughed as she and John headed out of the door.

They met Mrs Hudson at the bottom of the stairs. She smiled, “Go on then, both of you. Don't worry about a thing, I’ll keep an eye on the two of them,” she jerked her head upstairs. 

 

                                                                                ***

 

It was past one in the morning, when John and Mary returned. The soulful tunes of Sherlock’s violin spilled down the stairs as they ascended.

Sherlock stood in his nightclothes and blue robe, eyes closed as he played. Rosa was fast asleep on the sofa, surrounded by pillows as Sherlock serenaded her.

He stopped playing and smiled, “She liked it….. How was your night?”

Mary stepped forward; smile glassy, jubilant. She leaned up to kiss Sherlock’s cheek, “It was fabulous…. Thank you, Sherlock.”

She turned to John, “I need to pee and then sleep. You coming?”

“In a bit. You go on.”

She picked up Rosa and climbed upstairs, cuddling her closer.

John swayed on his feet for a few seconds as Sherlock watched with an amused look in his eyes. He went and fetched a glass of water for John, as John sat down on his chair.

John looked up at him smiling, his tone quiet, “We talked and talked…. About the past…. About our hopes for the future… our future, Rosa’s future." He sighed deeply, "Everything is good now, Sherlock. Finally, I feel I am at peace.”

Sherlock's smile was tender, his voice soft. “Peace is here and now, John. We say ‘ _I want Peace’_. Remove the ‘ _I_ ’, namely the ego... remove the ‘ _Want_ ’, namely the desire.... then only ‘ _Peace_ ’ remains. _Peace is always here and now_."

John looked at him, startled and then his brow furrowed, as he thought about this.

Still smiling Sherlock tucked his violin under his chin and closed his eyes, his music filling the room again. _Kesh……. Kesh, I love you, my Kesh…._

Much later, when he opned his eyes, John had fallen asleep on his chair, head lolling uncomfortably to one side. With gentle hands he shook John, “Wake up, John. Need to go to bed. Go upstairs.”

John staggered upstairs and after watching his back to make sure he was safe, Sherlock headed to bed too.

Curled up in bed, he looked at the empty patch next to him. He pulled Kesh’s pillow and buried his face in it, thankful for his sensitive nostrils that picked up a faint trace of the familiar sandalwood. He slept.

 

                                                                                                To be continued……..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read Chapter 14, if you need to refresh your memory about the Sheaths that surround the Self.


	24. Tyagena Eka Iva- Only by letting go.....

_**About Six months later…..** _

“Put a couple more cloves and turn the heat down, Mary,” instructed Kesh.

The roasting aromatic spices filled with kitchen with an enticing smell.

Kesh continued, “Meera taught me this recipe. It works best if the chicken is marinated overnight. And of course, eat with basmati rice.” He stood at the kitchen counter, dicing onions and blinking back tears.

Rosa was pottering around on all fours amongst the vast array of toys which somehow had made 221B their home and now populated every part of it.

“Hmm…..” said Mary taking in a deep breath, “This smells sumptuous. Should I wait for them to cool down before grinding them?”

They looked up as they heard the front door slam shut.

Racing up the steps, two at a time on his longer legs, Sherlock barged in first, coat in hand, one shirt sleeve rolled up. He was holding a towel wrapped around his left forearm, through which blood had seeped through. Expression grim and frustrated, he threw the coat down and sat down on his chair with a huff, completely ignoring Kesh and Mary.

John walked in a few seconds later, a cold fury on his face. Pointing a warning finger at Sherlock, he said in tight, clipped tones, “Sit….not another word out of you.”

Ignoring Kesh and Mary, he stormed into the bathroom and searched for his medical supplies there, loudly and pointedly banging all the doors.

After a brief glance at Sherlock, Kesh went back to cutting his onions and then moved to the chicken pieces, his face calm. Mary looked at Sherlock, her eyebrows raised. Sherlock shrugged his shoulders, looking sheepish but stayed quiet.

Rosa crept up to him and pulled herself up using his legs. She banged on his knees cheerfully, expecting to be picked up.

Sherlock whispered, “I _can’t_. Your father is angry with me.”

Just then John came out of the bathroom, suture tray, disinfectant and other items in hand. He said, “No, Rosa. Your father is furious with Sherlock.” Glancing briefly at Mary, he said, “Mary, can you take Rosa? I need to suture _Mr. ‘Don’t worry John, it’ll be fine’_.”

Mary came forward to pick up Rosa as John settled on his knees near Sherlock’s feet and said, “Give.”

Eyes fixed on John, Sherlock extended his arm. With infinite gentleness John removed the towel and stared at the eight centimetre laceration that had cut deep into the meagre subcutaneous fat on Sherlock’s forearm. John’s jaw clenched as he put on a pair of gloves, eyes fixed on the cut, noting that the bleeding had slowed down. He picked up the disinfectant and as he gently cleaned the wound, Sherlock winced in pain. John muttered, “Just going to put in some local anaesthetic. I need to check for tendon damage before I suture it up. When was your last tetanus booster?”

“A year ago,” came the subdued response, as Sherlock gritted his teeth to bear the sting of the local anesthetic.

John’s touches were gentle as he meticulously checked for tendon damage. “I _told_ you the jump was from too high. I _warned_ you about the jagged metal edges. But no, you’re the great Sherlock Holmes with your bloody massive intellect. _Why_ would you listen to anyone? Didn’t even think for one second, did you?”

John picked up the suture, as Sherlock said, “I thought I had a clear path….”

John’s eyes flashed, “ _Not_ another word.” He looked down at the wound grimly, thumb absently caressing the now numb skin and sighed. He said in a quiet voice, “As if you don’t have enough scars already……”

Sherlock stared at him mutely, and then said in a soft voice, “John…..”

John shook his head and murmured, “Not another word….” as he began to suture.

Mary stood watching silently from the kitchen. She turned to Kesh, who had now started frying the onions and the spices on a low flame, his face still calm.

Eyebrows raised, she asked, “Sherlock’s injured. Don’t you even want to go and see him?”

Kesh said softly, “He’s in good hands.”

She gave a surprised laugh, “ _And_ my husband is out there bullying your boyfriend. Are you okay with that?”

Kesh stopped stirring and looked at her for a few seconds. He smiled gently, “He was Sherlock’s best friend long before Sherlock came into my life….. he has more right to Sherlock than I do.”

Mary stared at him in wonder for a long time, trying to read him. _What are you? How can anyone think like this?_

She took a deep breath, “You are a good man, Kesh.”

Kesh continued to look at her, his expression serious, calm. He responded softly, “So are both of them, Mary. Good men. Good friends. They have been through so much…… they deserve peace, their friendship deserves some peace…. Without _my_ ego running around demanding attention.”

Mary’s eyes widened as she reflected on this for a while. A beautiful, spontaneous smile suddenly grew on her face as she walked up to Kesh and leaned up to kiss his cheek. “Sherlock was right…. You _are_ extraordinary …”

They stood quietly and watched. John was bent over Sherlock’s arm, brow furrowed in concentration as he placed neat sutures with gentle hands. Sherlock sat staring at him, his expression tender, full of love.

They went out as John finished bandaging the wound.

Kesh said cheerfully, “Dinner is ready. Come, let’s eat.”

John looked at Sherlock, who sat looking at the floor, chastised and quiet. He smiled with fond exasperation as he came up to ruffle Sherlock’s hair, “ _Git_ …..come on then, let’s eat.”

 

                                                                                ***

Much later in bed, Kesh sat up holding Sherlock’s hand. He was quiet as he looked at the bandage and kissed it and the skin around it and Sherlock’s hand again and again. Sherlock repeated in placating tones, “I’ll be more careful, Kesh.”

“Does it hurt much?” Kesh asked quietly.

Sherlock shook his head, as he watched Kesh’s head bow down again to place gentle kisses on his arm, caressing it with light fingers.

_Don’t go quiet, Kesh. I hate it. I’ll be more careful…._

 

                                                                                ***

 

John watched as Dr Sinha, the junior doctor dressed the large first degree burn on the young man named Scottie.

“I was freezing my bollocks off, Doc,” Scottie explained.

John looked stern as he retorted, “And so you thought it a good idea to get piss-assed drunk and then lean over a pile of burning wood and paper?”

Scottie shut up and looked warily at the fierce looking doctor.

John wagged a finger at him, “I want you to come for daily dressings. Dr Sinha will start you on preventive antibiotics. If I find out you haven’t been taking them or coming for regular dressings, I _will_ come and find you.” Scottie nodded his acquiescence vigorously.

Satisfied, John turned to the other doctor, “I’ll go out and see if anyone else is waiting. Bloody hell, it was busy today…”

He walked out in the waiting room to find Kesh deep in conversation with Big Alfie.

“ _Kesh_! Why didn’t you tell me you were here,” John exclaimed.

Kesh smiled, “Sorry, John. I got caught up in talking with Alfie here. I was passing by, I thought I'd come in to say Hello. How is everything going?”

John grinned, “Just brilliant! At this rate, we will soon need more staff. Actually that is one of the things I wanted to talk to you about. Do you want to grab a cup of coffee?”

Kesh grinned, “Love to.”

 

                                                                                ***

 

John took a sip of his coffee and leaned back to watch Kesh stirring sugar in his.

“Kesh, one of Mary’s friends, her sister is a nurse. She has applied for the nurse’s job at the clinic. I want to set up an interview for tomorrow. What time would be good for you?”

Kesh shook his head decisively, “ _You_ do the interview. You decide. What do I know about medicine? You run the clinic as you see fit, John.”

John nodded, “Okay. I must say I am enjoying my part time work here. And the doctors are coming along nicely. They are becoming more confident and are no longer afraid to call me for advice when they need to." He gave a deep sigh, "I feel like I have recovered my love for medicine.”

Kesh said, “I have spoken to Mycroft about funding. He has a couple of ideas he is looking into.”

John frowned. “Why involve him?”

Kesh shrugged, “He is a good man to have on your side. And if he can get funding, it will mean the clinic would become self-sustaining. Let’s wait and see. I am going away with him this afternoon for four days. I’ll talk to him.”

“Going with _Mycroft_? Where?” asked John incredulously.

Kesh smiled, “We wanted to spend some time together. Just to Cornwall. He has rented a private cottage by the beach, away from distractions.”

John looked disbelieving, “I can’t believe anyone wants to voluntarily spend time with him.”

“Why?”

“The man is a pompous git,” exclaimed John.

Kesh shook his head, “No, he isn’t. Why do you think so?”

John was silent for a few moments as he sipped his coffee, jaw clenched. “He is interfering, full of self-importance, he is condescending in his behaviour towards Sherlock. And it was his interference with the Moriarty business that ultimately led Sherlock to his fall.”

Kesh’s grin faded as he looked down at his coffee.

John sat back as he tried to get his anger under control, brow furrowed. He blinked as he slowly noticed Kesh’s silence. “What? You don’t agree?”

Kesh looked at John thoughtfully for a few moments. Finally, very softly he said, “Mycroft is a good man, John. Like Sherlock he is staggeringly intelligent and astute. He has a very broad world view. And he loves Sherlock more than anything else in the world. That _alone_ should be enough to overlook any perceived faults you see in him. As for the Moriarty business, we don’t know what other factors were at play at the time. It was years ago. John, holding on to memories, to past resentments, to anger spoils the harmony of the present life. It takes away peace of mind. And it affects Sherlock. What is the point of that?”

John thought for a while, his frown deepening. “Yeah well…. It is easy to talk about forgive and forget, Kesh. It is _not_ easy to actually do it. _You_ try and forget when someone harms you or …….” His voice faltered and slowed as he finished his thought with halting words, “or….. your loved one.”

_Who am I talking to? The man who cheerfully put everything that happened to Sherlock because of me, because of Mary, behind him? The man who loves Sherlock so much that for Sherlock he welcomed us into his life, even though he didn't have to! Sho has done everything in his power to ensure that we are part of Sherlock’s life….._

Kesh watched the slowly dawning comprehension on John’s face with quiet satisfaction. He said gently, “ _Let go_ , John. That way lies happiness, harmony, peace.”

John blinked and stared.

Kesh sipped his coffee quietly and then signalled for the bill. He smiled, “I’ll be off, John. Mycroft is coming to pick me in two hours and I haven’t even started packing.”

 

                                                                                ***

”I’ve spoken to the Minister for Health. He is looking into it. The clinic is unique in that it deals with the homeless people and their specific medical issues. He thinks that perhaps we can include it as an optional rotation for medical students and interns who are interested. Then we could fund it as part of a university program.” said Mycroft.

It was about an hour before the sun was ready to dip below the horizon. Mycroft and Kesh were walking over the large expanse of golden sand stretching out in front of them. Seagulls flew over them, their white bodies contrasting to the magnificent array of colours in the sky; hues of gold, orange, purple, red….as though setting the sky on fire.

The beach was private, exclusive and the two of them were enjoying their time with each other without the din and noise of the outside world.

Kesh smiled, “Thank you for your efforts, Mycroft. I am sure whatever you come up with will be for the best. I have just one concern…I want John to be in charge and be involved in _all_ the decisions made about the clinic.”

Mycroft glanced at Kesh with a frown and then walked silently. After a period of time, he finally said, “Kesh….. I’ve been both intrigued and impressed with the way you handled the _John situation_ …..You _never_ put Sherlock in a position where he had to choose between you and John. I know Sherlock loves you more than life itself, but it would have been hard for him to give up his affection for John. Things could have become difficult, _ugly_. What you did, what you are doing is extraordinary…. I am grateful on Sherlock’s behalf. Although I am sure he knows exactly what you are doing and why.”

Kesh smiled, “Mycroft, I love Sherlock more than anything in the world. I can fight the world to shield him from pain….. _this_ was nothing.”

They walked, enjoying the sea breeze and the stirring sounds of the sea.

After a while, Kesh added, “Besides, most interpersonal conflict is because of the ego running amok, wanting to assert itself, make itself important, demanding retribution for its perceived hurt….. all of this is distracting, a waste of mental energy. It takes one away from the goal of life.”

“What is that?” asked Mycroft.

“Moksha…… freedom,” answered Kesh.

Mycroft stopped walking. He stood looking far away at the horizon. Sombre. Thoughtful. His voice was quiet, “I don’t know if I have it in me, in this instance, Kesh. Your capacity to forget. It is hard. He has directly and indirectly caused Sherlock pain…..”

Kesh had a faraway look in his eyes as he stared out at the horizon. "There is an old folk story in Northern India. It's about how the street performers used to capture monkeys to make them perform to earn money." Mycroft turned towards him, intrigued.

"They would make special earthen pots, with very narrow openings. Just enough so the monkey could slide their paw in. And then keep a very shiny attractive piece of jewellery inside. Perhaps a bangle or a colourful bracelet. And then leave it out in the open. The monkey would be attracted to that colourful alluring trinket, he would approach and then look around to see if anyone is watching. Then put his hand into the pot. It just managed to slide in. He would grab the bracelet and try to take it out. But now his hand is not open, it is a fist. So it would not come out. He would struggle, he would pull and heave, trying desperately to slide his hand out. This would go on for a long time, till the person who set the trap would come and nab the monkey. The monkey never realized that all it needed to do to become free, to escape was to open his fist and let go. Then he could have slid his hand out anytime. But he could not give up that which he was holding on to."

Kesh turned to Mycroft, his voice just enough to be heard above the sounds of the ocean, “When we hold on to things, no matter if it is a person, situation, memory.... we bind ourselves. All that is needed is to open that fist and let go. Let it go, Mycroft. John is a good man, he is Sherlock’s friend, he loves Sherlock. He is coming to accept and love the changes that have come into his life….. he is trying hard. It is time to bury the past. Let it go….”

With a deep breath Mycroft bowed his head. He stood with pursed lips, thinking silently. After several seconds, he turned to look into Kesh’s warm brown eyes.

“If that is what you want me to do….”

Kesh’s intent gaze sharpened as it searched Mycroft’s face. Finally he said in a quiet tone, “I do.”

With a grave inclination of his head, Mycroft said simply, “Then consider it done, Kesh.”

Kesh gave a satisfied nod as they resumed walking quietly. Both found words superfluous to their shared harmony of thoughts and minds.

After several minutes, Mycroft slowed. He stopped Kesh with a hand on his arm and said a trifle hesitantly, “Kesh, I find myself intrigued by your world view, your philosophy, your culture. It is foreign to me, to my way of life, to the culture I was raised in. And yet, I look at you and I see a sublime example of what your way of thinking can result in…… I find myself utterly captivated and very anxious to learn more about it. Can I trouble you to explain at least some of it? You said the goal of life is freedom… you called it….. what did you call it?

“ _MOKSHA_. The ‘mo’ is pronounced as in ‘mobile’. It means freedom.”

Mycroft nodded eagerly, “Moksha…. Freedom. Freedom from what? From whom?”

Kesh stopped and looked at Mycroft for a few quiet moments, a thoughtful frown on his forehead as he considered. Mycroft waited patiently.

Finally he gestured for Mycroft to sit down. Kesh sat cross legged facing the ocean. Mycroft sat facing Kesh, resting his arms on his bent legs.

“There are two kinds of philosophy, Mycroft,” Kesh began softly. “One deals with morality, ethics, endless erudite discussions about the similarities and differences of various faiths, historical aspects of the religions of the world. The other deals with the Highest Truth, the Reality……Any discussion on Moksha or freedom firmly falls within the latter. It is not a dry philosophical notion, it is _the most_ pressing need of every human, but goes unrecognized due to lack of attention, failure to apply the intellect.” Kesh glanced briefly at Mycroft, “You, I believe _do_ possess that subtlety of intellect required to understand the concept. So I will begin with the highest truth; dwell on it, reflect upon it. And _then_ ask questions.”

He turned back to look at the waves.

“We take ourselves to be what we are not, and then take on the limitations of what we’ve mistakenly assumed ourselves to be. We take ourselves to be everything bounded by skin, and everything external to the body is ‘not me’. Everything that’s 'not-me' threatens my security and happiness because the ‘me’ bounded by skin is not up to the challenges thrown up by the 'not-me' world. The struggles end when we realize that _instead_ of trying to compensate for the impotence of the mistaken ‘me’, we must try to correct the error and discover the true self”

Mycroft listened, rapt, a keen fierce look in his eyes, as though ALL of his considerable intellect was listening to every word with total focus, total attention.

“In essence I am unbound limitless awareness. I am pure being. But I allow myself to become bound to the form. The two arms and two legs form. I give it a name. Then I further restrict it with all possible conditionings of gender, race, nationality, profession, relationships. I become attached to this form and to its conditionings. I become _passionately_ attached to the mind, its opinions, prejudices, likes and dislikes. I accumulate a historical past and give it great importance. By the end of it I have restricted that mighty being that I am, into a very narrow, unreal, _utterly false_ identity. And _now_ I approach life with this purely fictitious definition of myself. And expect happiness! This is the _root_ of sorrow.”

Mycroft's eyes were wide, as comprehension started to sink in.

“This forgetting of my true self and mistaken identification with my false outer self, _limits_ me. I am the nature of bliss. But I become vulnerable, I am unprotected; from the trials and tribulations of life, the world.”

“Being bound is being limited. Being limited is being sorrowful. Being sorrowful is being unprotected. Therefore being free is being limitless. Being limitless is being happy. Therefore knowledge of the Truth as one’s own self is freedom, it is the _absolute_ protection. It is _Moksha_.”

Kesh fell quiet.

Mycroft looked stunned, struggling to gasp out, “And how do you attain it?”

Kesh smiled gently, “By contemplating on it deeply. And with the sword of non-attachment. A sword you keep sharp and use _ruthlessly_.”

Mycroft frowned. “Do I need to leave worldy life to attain it?”

“Absolutely not,” Kesh laughed. “The world is there to be enjoyed. Enjoy it! But keep your gaze firmly inwards, do the actions that are demanded by your situation in life, refuse to get entangled in the ‘not-me’. Be the most selfish person you can be, but only with the understanding the Self that you are devoted to, is the Higher Self, your true Self.”

Kesh fell silent again, looking out to the sea. He waited patiently for the inevitable questions, for whenever they might come.

Mycroft closed his eyes as he took a deep breath and he too turned to face the sea. With unseeing eyes he sat as he replayed every word and his keen insightful mind chased the implications. They sat there for a long time in reflective silence, wind ruffling their hair, as darkness set.

                                                               

                                                                                ***

                                                                               

“I’m so happy, Sherlock. It will be so wonderful, I can’t wait,” murmured Kesh.

The lay in bed, Kesh on his back, looking wistful and Sherlock curled on his side, head held up by his hand, his foot gently caressing Kesh's legs, as he listened. His other hand drew circles on Kesh's chest as he smiled at the eagerness in his voice.

_They had a phone call that morning. Meera was pregnant!_

“You know, I met Uddhav when he was still at school. So young, a bit confused….. his father had just passed away. And now he’s going to be a father!” Kesh laughed in delight.

Stroking Kesh’s cheek with one hand, Sherlock said quietly, “I know….he told me. How you helped him find his feet.” His blue-green eyes shone with love, “You are an extraordinary man, my Kesh.”

Kesh closed his eyes and turned to bury his face in Sherlock’s chest. He murmured, “Your Kesh….. only yours, Sherlock.”

Sherlock stroked his hair, eyes unfocused as he thought. Kesh drew back and looked at the pensive expression.

“What is it?”

Sherlock shook his head, soft curls brushing against Kesh’s face.

“Tell me.”

Sherlock took a deep breath and frowned, “If I had not come into your life, you might now be happily married to a beautiful Indian woman…. With children of your own.”

Kesh grinned, “And why would I want children of ‘my own’, Sherlock? We have so many children in our family--Meera’s child will come, Rosa, Manjula, Mahesh, Vinod….. There are so many children in the world. We can look after so many.”

Sherlock’s keen eyes searched for any evidence of regret on Kesh’s face. Kesh looked back, eyes twinkling, his dimples getting deeper. Sherlock smiled back and tried to probe a dimple with the tip of his tongue playfully. “Oh, Kesh, but that we could have kids together… What would our children be like?”

Kesh laughed, “They’d look like……zebras. Black and white. Well….maybe brown and white zebras.”

Sherlock laughed as he looked down at their bodies. His smile faded, arousal slowly gathering in his eyes as he observed the contrast of his pale, milky skin to the smooth, brown colour of Kesh’s. _Like a decadent mix of white chocolate and caramel, so erotic….._

He moved to cover Kesh’s body, lazily rubbing his hardening cock against Kesh’s body. Voice husky, he murmured against Kesh’s lips, “Want you.”

Kesh shivered at the sudden heat in Sherlock’s eyes, “Then have me….. please, Sherlock.”

Sherlock's smile was seductive, “Oh, I _am_ going to have you. Repeatedly. In every way. For the rest of our lives,” as he brought their lips together.

 

                                                                                ***

 

“Ooph,”exclaimed Lestrade as he picked up Rosa. “She’s getting heavy, isn’t she?”

John grinned, “Yep. With her around, Mary and I don’t feel the need to go to the gym.”

Lestrade struggled to hold the wiggling child, as Sherlock said dryly, “Lestrade, I find it difficult to believe you have brought up _any_ children. Give her to me.”

Rosa squealed with delight as Sherlock stretched out his arms to her. Eagerly she hugged him with her little arms as Sherlock nuzzled his face to her body. She giggled and then slid down and took off.

_221B was lit up. Christmas lights were still up and candles and the fireplace lent a soft ambiance. Soft music played in the background and the sounds of chatter filled the apartment. It was New Year’s Eve and Kesh had invited everyone over to celebrate._

They looked up as there was a knock on the open door. A relaxed looking Mycroft, wearing smart casual clothes entered. He nodded at Sherlock before stepping up to Lestrade and John. With a warm genuine smile, he extended his hand, “John.”

For a split second John froze and then regrouped promptly. He answered the smile with a broad grin and shook hands, “Welcome, Mycroft. Sherlock didn’t tell us you were coming. Sneaky devil. Can I get you some wine?”

Mycroft nodded, “That would be lovely, thank you, John.”

He turned to shake hands with Lestrade, before entering the kitchen to greet Kesh and Mrs Hudson.

Sherlock picked up his drink and stepped back to the window and watched as he sipped.

Molly was perched on the sofa, trying on different party hats as Mary clicked photographs. Rosa enthusiastically joined the fun as she dove into the pile. Laughing, Molly picked her up on to her lap. Mary made a remark and they giggled.

Lestrade, John and Mycroft were sipping their wine as John told some anecdote about the clinic. Mycroft made some comment and the three men laughed.

Kesh was with Mrs Hudson in the kitchen, cutting garnishes for the dishes they had prepared that afternoon.

Warm, soft tones and laughter filled the house. Enticing smells of warm food permeated out from the kitchen, the promise of a feast and sustenance.

Sherlock watched it all, then stared at Kesh who was bustling around in the kitchen.

_This time last year, I was alone…… so alone…. What did you do, Kesh? Everyone who is important to me is here…. I am surrounded by love….and it is all because of you…. I love you, Kesh._

Kesh paused what he was doing and looked up to meet Sherlock’s eyes over everyone else. He smiled.

_I love you too, Sherlock._

 

                                                                                ***

 

It was past eleven by the time the dinner plates were cleaned up. Everyone was gathered around the warm fireplace as they sipped on their hot toddies, chatting and waiting to usher in the new year.

A phone rang.

Lestrade fished into his pocket and picked it up, “Yeah, Sally?”

Everyone was silent as he listened, watching the growing frustration on his face.

“Right, I’ll be there in…”he looked down at his watch, “in half an hour…… Yeah….. yeah, I’ll ask him.” He hung up.

He looked at Sherlock, “There has been a double murder. Trail is still fresh. Will you come?”

Sherlock glanced at Kesh, who dipped his head imperceptibly and smiled. He drew himself up to his full presence and said, “Of course, Lestrade. Just give me two minutes to get ready.” He strode into the bedroom.

A few seconds later he called out, “Kesh…”

Kesh came into the bedroom only to find himself pulled and gently backed against the wall. Soft demanding lips pressed against his as an insistent tongue moved to devour him. After a few seconds, Sherlock withdrew and pressed his forehead against Kesh’s.

He whispered against Kesh’s mouth, “I did _so_ want to start the new year with you, Kesh. I had a speech prepared to toast you….”

Kesh smiled as he kissed Sherlock’s lips lightly.

“I’ll be here when the case is over.” He dropped his voice suggestively, “You can still say your speech while you have me spread out under you?"

Sherlock grinned, “It’s a date.” He rubbed noses gently with Kesh.

Kesh smiled back, “Now _go_. Do your magic, Sherlock Holmes.”

Sherlock strode out to find John wearing his jacket and Molly dressed in her coat. She explained, “Greg said he might need urgent autopsies…”

Sherlock nodded as he started putting on his coat, his scarf and gloves. There was a suppressed excitement in his voice, his eyes glowed, as he rubbed his hands together, “ _Oh_ ….the new year looks promising _already._ ”

He walked out, calling over his shoulder as his feet drummed over the staircase, “Come on, John. Molly.”

John, Lestrade and Molly followed him out.

 

 

 

                                                                                                To be continued………

 


	25. Priyosimay- My beloved....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could not resist ending this in India. In many ways it is where it began......
> 
> I urge you to read the end notes before you say good-bye to Moksha. They are important….

_**A few months later……** _

The stage was pitch dark except for a cone of light that streamed from above, illuminating a circle of warm light at the centre of the stage. Subdued whispers and the occasional cough could be heard in the auditorium packed to the rafters.

There was a movement at the corner of the stage and then Sherlock stepped into the circle of light.

He stood still, looking dramatic. His tall and slim, elegant figure dressed entirely in black—black shirt, black suit, black shoes. His fair face and hands stood out in sharp relief. The only colour came from his blue-green-gray eyes as they flashed and the iridescent shells and stones that shimmered on the body of the dark brown violin he held in one hand.

A hush fell over the audience as they waited.

_It had been barely five days since they had arrived in India. It was the end-of-year school day, just before summer vacations started. On learning that their Hrishikesh bhaiyya and Sherlock Sir were coming to India, the students and teachers overseen by an enthusiastic Mr Rathod had worked hard, day and night, preparing hurriedly, to make this day a special occasion._

Sherlock raised his violin and tucked it under his chin. He raised his other hand to touch the bow to the violin and played a confident stroke. Gasps emanated from the audience as the sound reverberated.

Slowly he closed his eyes as he began to play in earnest. Soft curls fell forward on his forehead as he bent his long graceful neck down to make love to his violin, the music rising out of him as he submitted to it, let it consume him, became one with it. He played to pour out his gratitude and love. To the universe for bringing him to his Kesh. For uniting them. He played for his Kesh to express _that_ which was beyond words. He lost track of time as he played, the tunes bursting out of him in divine waves with the perfection that only playing from one’s centre can bring.

 _Kesh……Kesh……Kesh……_ his heart and his violin sang.

When he finished, he slowly opened those moist, verdigris eyes to look out into the darkness, eyes a trifle unfocused, still a bit lost in his zone. There was a hushed silence before the auditorium _erupted_. Thunderous applause, frenzied clapping, stomping of feet and whistles greeted him as the lights came on. He stared at the hundreds of people, who had were standing up to give an exuberant standing ovation.

He looked at the front row, eyes searching for only one man. Kesh stood grinning, his deep dimples flashing as he looked at Sherlock with pride and love. He ran his glance over the rest of the row. Pride, joy, love, respect spilled from everyone’s faces-- Mycroft, John, Mary, Mrs Hudson, Molly, Uddhav, Meera, Manjula, Mahesh, Vedant, Sonali, Vinod, Partha, Shankar, Mr Rathod, the students, parents and teachers who filled the rest of the bursting auditorium.

He slowly came out of his zone and became aware of his laboured breathing, his entire body vibrating with exhilaration. He bent low at the waist to acknowledge the applause, cutting a dignified figure, before straightening and walking off-stage.

 

                                                                                ***

 

_It had been a month earlier that Kesh had broached the subject._

_“Sherlock, it’ll soon be almost a year since we’ve been to India. I miss everyone. I want us to go to India.”_

_They lay on the sofa, nuzzling and talking, legs entwined, Sherlock resting his head on Kesh’s shoulder._

_At Kesh’s words, Sherlock looked up and smiled widely, “I’d love to.”_

_Kesh kissed his forehead and added hesitantly, “I was thinking…..if we could take everyone along. It’s like we have two families, one here in London and one in India….I thought, wouldn’t it be wonderful if they all met each other…”_

_Sherlock sat up, eyes gleaming with excitement, “Yes, YES, Kesh. That’s a brilliant idea!”_

                                                                                ***

 

It was much later after the ceremony, that everyone sat on plastic chairs in the large pandal constructed especially for the night in the school grounds. Dinner was about to be served.

Mary, Molly and Mrs Hudson watched wide eyed as children, students and their parents bustled around. Rosa was a hit. She ran around, surrounded by kids who were ready to do anything to hear her laugh.

Mr Rathod had taken Kesh, Sherlock, Mycroft, John and Uddhav for a tour of the school. He talked and pointed out the facilities, his tone respectful.

When they returned, Kesh and Sherlock were taken by Mr Rathod, to meet all the new teachers and staff. “Many of our previous teachers had to leave,” he explained. “Their houses were swept away, or they had lost family members and needed to relocate. But we have hired good teachers. I want you to meet them, please Hrishikesh bhaiyya, Sherlock Sir.”

John, Mycroft and the women watched.

The staff stood in a long line, bowing respectfully, doing Namaste as Mr Rathod introduced each one to Sherlock and Kesh. They greeted each one, shook hands, asking questions and listening patiently to their responses. A few feet away there was a group of parents waiting their turn, also keen to speak with Sherlock and Kesh.

John murmured, “I wish Sally were here to see this….” Molly laughed, "I didn't realize how popular both of them are!" Mary nodded, "Never thought I'd see something like this."

Meera came with a pillow, smiling. Her belly protruded as she waddled up to them. “Mrs Hudson, keep this behind your back, so that it won’t hurt. Can I get anything else for anyone?” she asked.

 

                                                                                ***

 

Sherlock uncle, Sherlock uncle,” Manjula chanted as she raced up to him. She was waving a laminated piece of A4 paper at him. “Meera didi said I first have to show you this, and only then I am allowed to have dinner.”

She pushed the paper, her Certificate of Merit that she had just received an hour ago into his hands. And then her slim body bent into double as her hands touched Sherlock’s feet in respect. So attuned was he to Indian ways by now, that Sherlock did not step back. Instead he bent down and touched a gentle hand to her head, and then squatted down to be at eye level to her. “I’m proud of you, Manjula. Well done.”

She kissed his cheek and smiled.

“Go and eat now. Tell your Meera didi you’ve shown me your certificate.” She ran to her waiting friends.

“Need a hand?” asked Kesh, his tone mischievous.

Sherlock shook his head and hissed, “Kesh, ever since I fed that girl that blasted grass, I find myself _obsessed_ with her eating habits.” He grabbed Kesh’s outstretched arm and pulled himself up, as Kesh laughed.

 

                                                                                                ***

 

Kesh stood looking out of the office window on the third floor at everyone gathered for lunch on the terrace on the first floor. Meera, Sonali, Molly and Mary were bustling around setting the table. Mrs Hudson was clutching John’s arm as she talked excitedly about something. Sherlock and Mycroft were lounging on chairs, sitting close, heads inclined towards each other as they talked. Manjula, Mahesh and Vinod were playing with a squealing, laughing Rosa as she ran around the terrace.

Kesh stood smiling, only half listening to Uddhav who was busy talking just a few feet away. “Hrishikesh, I told you to go through the accountants report. You do need to sign it before you leave……”

Kesh turned to look fondly at his friend. He watched Uddhav’s animated, intelligent face as he talked about and updated Kesh about the factories, the hospital, the bank, the old people’s home….

Uddhav finally looked up from the files spread out on the table, “Hrishikesh, are you even _listening_ to me?”

Kesh walked up to Uddhav and said softly, “Uddhav, how can I thank you? You’re working so hard. It is only because of you that I’m able to live in London. Don’t think I don’t know that. _You’ve_ made it possible for me. Thank you.”

Uddhav looked distressed as he shook his head, “No…. You’ve said it this once, Hrishikesh. _Never_ ever say it to me again. This is _nothing_ ….I would give up my life if it was of any use to you.”

Kesh pulled him into a warm embrace.

“Don’t say that,” he murmured. “You’re my child, Uddhav. I may only be a few years older, but I feel like I’ve raised you. Don’t say that…. I am so proud of you, so proud.” He bent to kiss Uddhav’s forehead gently.

They parted after some time.

Uddhav looked searchingly at Kesh’s face, “Are you happy, Hrishikesh? In London? Is Sherlock treating you well?”

Kesh smiled reassuringly, “I’m _very_ happy. Don’t worry. And Sherlock is….. He loves me so much.” His face took on a look of wonder, “I get to see him every day, Uddhav. To be with him, to hold him when I want….It feels like a dream sometimes.”

Uddhav clasped his arm and said fiercely, “I’m so happy to hear that. So happy to hear that, Kesh.”

Kesh smiled and pulled him to a chair, “Okay, your turn. What does it feel like to know you’ll be a father soon?”

 

                                                                                ***

 

“Meera…..Meera,” Sherlock’s deep voice was demanding, as he walked into the kitchen.

Meera ran hurriedly towards him, voice eager, “Yes, Sherlock sir?”

“Careful….don’t try to run,” chided Sherlock looking at her protruding belly. “Do we have any mangoes? I wanted everyone to taste mango lassi with lunch.”

“Yes, we do have some mangoes but they are not ripe enough for lassi. I’ll get Vedant to go to the market and get some. I’ll definitely make lassi tomorrow.” She nodded politely.

Sherlock nodded, “Thank you, Meera.” He turned to leave.

He turned back as Meera said, “Sherlock sir…”

“Yes?" his voice was kind, indulgent as he inclined his head and fixed her with his gaze.

She hesitated, clutching an edge of her sari, and then looked up bravely, “Sir…. The due date of my delivery is in a month.” She put her hand on her pregnant belly. “Sir…. Please, Sherlock Sir, it would mean so much….. I want very much for my baby to be held by Hrishikesh bhaiyya and you. To be blessed by you both as soon as it is born. I dream of seeing it in bhaiyya’s arms. I cannot imagine it having a better start to life than that. I’ve spoken to Hrishikesh bhaiyya, he said he will talk to you…..I know you all have to leave in two weeks and you have your work waiting for you….but….please, Sir…..can you consider staying for an extra few days. _Please_ , Sherlock sir,” she pleaded.

Sherlock had stood listening to her hesitant voice patiently. He smiled and inclined his head, “You and Uddhav are more important to Kesh and I than work, Meera. I’ll talk to Kesh. If it is okay with him, nothing would give me greater pleasure.”

She beamed, eyes sparkling.

Sherlock looked at her and it was his turn to hesitate, “Meera….. isn’t it time you stopped calling me ‘Sherlock Sir’? Maybe you could call me just Sherlock….or if you prefer…” he looked at her face intently and then suggested softly, “…then maybe Sherlock bhaiyya?”

She gave a delighted laugh. Her eyes searched Sherlock’s face, her voice was teasing, “If I call you bhaiyya, then you have _to be_ like an elder brother. Like Hrishikesh bhaiyya. You have to protect me….”

He chuckled, “As if I would let anything happen to you, Meera….”

She stepped closer and looked up at him shyly, “Then, Sherlock _bhaiyya_ it is!”

 

                                                                                ***

 

Everyone was gathered on the terrace eating lunch. Conversation flowed as they talked and teased and laughed.

As Vedant, Sonali and others cleared the tables, John stood up and took a deep breath. He held up a glass and tapped it with a spoon to garner attention. As everyone looked up, he put the glass down and put his hand on Mary's shoulder. Mary leaned towards him and smiled as she rested her head on his tummy.

John cleared his throat and beamed, “Mary and I have an announcement to make.”

Everyone looked bemused, their eyes lit up with pleasurable anticipation.

John ran his eyes over everyone, smiling and then his eyes rested on Sherlock. Joy spilled from his voice, “Mary is pregnant.” He squeezed her shoulder and glanced at Mary before looking up again. “It is early days yet, but we thought we’d announce it before Sherlock deduces it again.”

Sherlock smiled as Molly and Mrs Hudson laughed aloud. The party erupted with cries of delight and cheers as Mrs Hudson, Molly, Meera all raced to hug and congratulate Mary. Mycroft, Kesh and Uddhav stepped up to shake hands with John and congratulate him.

Sherlock stood, his eyes smiling, his hands clasped behind his back, waiting for his turn.

Finally John looked at him, his face lit up. Putting a warm palm on the nape of his neck, Sherlock pulled him into a warm embrace.

John mumbled against his chest, “I’m so happy, Sherlock.”

Sherlock placed a soft kiss on his head, “I know, John. My congratulations.”

 

                                                                                ***

 

“Meera, help me. I don’t know how to fix this,” Mary’s voice sounded muffled as she held a safety pin between her teeth. “It’s falling apart.” She stood half draped in her sari. Her fair bosom was draped in a beautiful peacock blue blouse offset with gold embroidery. Her sari shimmered in a pile around her, as she held up one end in her henna covered hand.

Meera chided as she stepped forward, “No, no…don’t pull on it. Hang on, I’ll drape it again and we’ll use pins to keep it in place.”

Molly sat on the chair, already wearing her dark pink chiffon sari, make-up done, looking like a doll. She was struggling to put on her colourful bangles.

Mrs Hudson tut-tutted, “Come here, Molly. Get some moisturizer. I’ll help you put them on.” She complained, “Honestly girls, we’re going to be so late, we’ll miss all the fun.”

Mary grinned, “That’s easy for you to say.” She wagged an accusing finger, “You’re chicken, Mrs Hudson. You took the easy way out, wearing a salwar kameez. Molly and I have to wear these saris.”

Mrs Hudson shook her head emphatically, “No, thank you, dear. At my age, if I trip over these yards of cloth….I’ll probably break every bone in my body. John’s already warned me that I suffer from osteoporosis.”

Meera laughed, “No one is going to fall down. We’re going to go and have a good time. Now, remember the bride’s name is Suleka. She is Hrishikesh bhaiyya’s distant cousin. Stay close to me, we don’t want to look like gate-crashers.”

Mary grinned and said in a mischievous tone, “Hey, Molly. Find a gorgeous rich Indian man like Kesh. Then we can all attend your wedding and dance.”

Molly giggled, “Oh I wish….. I don’t think there is anyone else like Kesh though. _But_ , I’m going to keep my eyes open, don’t you worry.”

Meera sighed, “ _No one_ is going to dance. I’ve _told_ you, it’s the groom’s side who comes in the _baaraat_ that dances. ….Seriously, they’re going to throw us out. Then we’ll have to get Hrishikesh bhaiyya and Sherlock bhaiyya to come and vouch for us.”

Molly grumbled, “They won’t even come with us. I wanted to see Sherlock in his Sherwani.”

Mary snorted, “Yeah, good luck trying to get Sherlock to come voluntarily and make small talk with a group of strangers.”

Molly’s face brightened, “Maybe I can get Kesh to make him put on the Sherwani. Just so we can see what he looks like…..”

 

                                                                                ***

 

“Do you have a minute, Uddhav?” Sherlock asked as he strode into the third floor office. The desk was strewn with files and papers and Uddhav was hard at work. He looked up and smiled. Putting his papers aside, he stood up.

“Have a seat, Sherlock. You don’t have to ask me such questions. I am at your service at all times.”

Sherlock settled into the comfortable armchair by the window as Uddhav sat again on his chair.

“Has Kesh told you?” asked Sherlock.

Uddhav looked puzzled, “Told me what?”

Sherlock grinned, “Kesh and I are staying till you have your baby. The others will leave, as they have work to attend to, but we will stay.”

Uddhav beamed, “Really, Sherlock? Does Meera know? She will go crazy. I must go and tell her.”

Sherlock waved a hand, “I think Kesh was going to talk to her. Sit. I haven’t had a chance to talk to you at length. How are you? How are you dealing with all this extra work that has fallen on your shoulders?”

Uddhav smiled, “That’s easy. I know that what I do helps Hrishikesh to be with you and that is where his heart is. For that, I am ready to do any amount of work.” His eyes slid over the papers as he turned silent for a few moments. He looked up at Sherlock’s intent eyes and sighed. “It does feel a bit overwhelming at times,” he admitted. “Not the amount of work, but the decisions involved. I am just 25 years old, Sherlock. And I find myself overseeing factories, hospitals, schools, clinics…. Sometimes I wonder how Hrishikesh has put so much trust in me.”

Sherlock's gaze softened, “Oh, but he does trust you, Uddhav. He trusts that you will make the right decisions.”

Uddhav looked down at his hands as he murmured, “Sometimes I don’t know.... Usually I wait till I am due to call Hrishikesh. I try not to bother him too much. But sometimes, I need to take immediate steps….. when I’m confused, I close my eyes and ask myself,” his voice fell into a whisper, “ _What would Hrishikesh do?_ And the answer becomes obvious to me.”

Sherlock's eyes looked knowing, fond as he watched the emotions on Uddhav’s expressive face. He stayed silent as he waited for Uddhav to continue.

Uddhav continued to look down at his hands absently, “I miss him, Sherlock….. I miss him so much. He is my elder brother, my father, my friend and my guru. I miss seeing him, feeling his reassuring hand on my shoulder, his presence…… I miss him but I can’t tell him that otherwise he will feel bad about staying away.”

Sherlock smiled gently, “I think he knows how much you miss him.”

Uddhav looked up at Sherlock, tears brimming in his eyes, “Meera misses him too….”

Sherlock took a deep breath, “I’m sorry, Uddhav. It is because of me, you all have to be away from Kesh.”

Uddhav shook his head, “No, it’s not that….just, can I ask for something, Sherlock? Next time, can you _please_ make sure you don’t let such a long time pass by without both of you coming to India?” He smiled self-consciously through the tears that started to spill from his eyes.

Sherlock stood up and walked towards Uddhav. Placing a gentle hand on Uddhav’s shoulder he said, “I promise, Uddhav. I won’t let more than a few months go by, we WILL come more often." He gathered Uddhav close and let him have a quiet moment as Uddhav rested his head on Sherlock's tummy. Sherlock's fingers gently moved through his hair as Uddhav murmured again, "I miss him so much."

 

                                                                                ***

 

“But why do you want to start her on insulin straightaway,” John’s voice sounded a bit exasperated as he looked at the two Indian doctors standing in attention in front of him. “You could try adding the gliptins or glitazones first to the metformin she is already on. Or even start Exenatide injections. Your patient’s compliance will be better. And you will have some improvement in the diabetic control.”

They were standing next to the bedside of a sixty-four year old lady, who had been admitted at the hospital with diabetes complicated by concurrent pneumonia. Kesh and Uddhav stood by the bedside, listening intently.

The middle aged Indian doctor looked blank, while the young one said eagerly, “Dr Watson Sir, we are not familiar with these drugs. And we don’t have them in stock. Could you teach us about them?”

Uddhav interjected, “And John, if they are important, we can get those drugs from Delhi. Just tell us what to get.”

John had been visiting the hospital and old people’s home that day with Kesh and Uddhav. He was slowly realizing that while the motives were good and honest and the nursing care was excellent, the knowledge levels of the doctors had prominent gaps that needed to be filled. Fortunately they were enthusiastic to learn and made no attempts to hide their ignorance of the rapid march of medicine and pharmacology.

With a promise to return later that afternoon to conduct a crash tutorial for all the doctors on the modern management of diabetes, John followed Uddhav and Kesh to the administrative office.

Kesh asked Vedant to get tea for everyone while he looked at an animated John. “John, as you can see the treatment of these patients can be optimized. The doctors are doing their best. But their English is poor and they are computer illiterate. Uddhav and I initially had tried to get the latest medical journals from Delhi, but they were unable to comprehend it and have stuck to their old fashioned ways. We have some consultants from Delhi who visit, but it is not as often as we would like.”

Uddhav nodded , “Because everything here is free of cost, the doctors are overrun with work, patients come from far and wide. Everyone is trying hard though.”

John said, “What I am talking about are _simple_ steps. And it would mean better care….”

Kesh smiled, “John, I have a proposition for you to consider. As you can see there is a need for supervision and support. Would you consider coming to India, maybe a couple of times a year, for two to three weeks, just to educate and guide these doctors? And tell Uddhav what can be done to improve the facilities and service provided. It will be a paid trip of course. Or you could choose to just advice Uddhav via Skype from time to time”

John frowned as he considered, “I’ll have to think about that, Kesh. And talk to Mary.”

Kesh stood up and said softly, “No hurry, John. It was just a thought.”

 

                                                                                ***

 

 

“Sherlock, please…” Kesh gasped as Sherlock's long cock slid in again.

Sherlock lay spooning Kesh from behind as he fucked lazily, alternating between fast hard thrusts and leisurely slow rocking. His curls tickled Kesh’s face as he leaned over to lick the bead of sweat running down Kesh’s temple. His hand snaked around Kesh’s body to stroke him lightly, not quite allowing any relief, _teasing_.

He’d had both of them on the edge for what seemed like hours. They’d changed position twice already as Sherlock expertly and mercilessly played with both their bodies, keeping them both just hanging on a precipice.

“Oh Kesh….. I enjoy this so much…. beg, Kesh……” his husky voice sent shivers down Kesh’s spine.

“Please, Sherlock…so good….. I need to come….”

Sherlock sucked roughly at his shoulder as his fingers tugged and twisted Kesh’s already puffed nipples gently. Kesh panted open mouthed, all dignity forgotten, “Sherlock, I’m actually going to die! You’re killing me….please, have mercy….”

His fingers dug into Kesh’s hips as Sherlock drew back until barely the tip of his thick cock was stretching Kesh before slamming back in with full force.

Kesh's fists fists curled even more on the already crumpled sheets, "Oh God!"

Sherlock moaned, “Fuck, Kesh….. so good. You feel so good….” He panted and waited to catch his breath, “Admit it, Kesh. You love this, love me playing with you like this.”

Kesh smiled, breathing heavily. It _was_ true. Much as he loved everything Sherlock did in bed, _this_ was perhaps his favourite mood of Sherlock’s. Playful, sensual, _decadent_ ….. When it was an act of love making that seemed to go on forever and attaining a climax seemed secondary. He seemed to know just what to do, when to stop, what to say, his considerable focus intent only on driving Kesh out of his mind.

“I do love it….. I love you, Sherlock,” Kesh gasped as Sherlock stroked him again.

Sherlock kissed the spot on his shoulder he had just bruised and smiled wickedly, “I know.”

He pulled out completely and rolled Kesh till he lay on his back. Sherlock climbed on top and covered his body. Sweat and lube made them slippery as they frotted, gasping at the exquisite friction as their erections rubbed together, kissing messily and panting in each other’s mouths.

Sherlock murmured, “I love having you in this room, fucking you on this bed. Brings back old memories, Kesh…..” His hips still undulating lazily, he smiled seductively and dropped the pitch of his voice, “Do you remember, the first night we spent together on this bed? You wouldn’t even let me _see_ you….. you made me go and wank in your bathroom. I painted your mirror and floor, Kesh. I came so hard…..Oh, the sounds you made…. They still ring in my ears…”

Kesh blushed and covered his face with his hands, embarrassed, “You must have thought I was such a fool. You must have laughed at me…..”

Sherlock chuckled softly, gently removing Kesh’s hands to look into his eyes, “Not for a second, Kesh….. my shy Kesh…..” He brushed back Kesh’s damp hair tenderly with one hand and kissed his forehead, his nose, “My beautiful, shy virgin you were…. all mine, forever. You have _no_ idea how aroused I was……it had been so long since I’d been intimate with anyone….not since college, many years in fact. I was pretty _desperate_ …..”

“I made you wait, I could not give you what you wanted straightaway. I’m sorry Sherlock.” Kesh raised one hand to touch Sherlock’s face, thumb tracing his lips lightly.

Sherlock looked down and shook his head. He gazed at Kesh for a few moments, trying to find the right words. After a while, he said in a quiet tone, “Kesh, I have been _taking_ from you since the first day I met you……You are the best thing to have happened to me. I hope you know that.”

Kesh looked up, eyes moist, “I love you madly, Sherlock.”

“I know,” Sherlock murmured as he bent down to claim Kesh’s mouth again. He buried his face in Kesh’s neck as his hand moved to cup his ass and knead it, “Need to come _now_ , Kesh. Can’t last much longer. Spread your legs.”

He entered Kesh again, long gentle strokes as he kissed that beloved face and mouth. Breathy moans and desperate gasps soon filled the room as he sped up, stroking Kesh faster and faster. All the time, their eyes locked into each other’s, their mouths panted each other’s names, lost in each other as they raced to completion.

 

                                                                                ***

 

Much later, after a shower and putting on fresh night clothes, they lay cuddling and talking. Sherlock said, “It is only ten days before everyone leaves. Kesh, I want them to experience Harsil. Do you think we could go?”

Kesh laughed, “You really loved it, didn’t you? Uddhav and I were just talking about it yesterday. More and more farmers are joining the Co-operative. I was keen to go as well…..The only place I am not taking anyone to, is the apple orchard…..” he chuckled.

Sherlock grinned suggestively, “But we could always escape to it when we need to be alone.”

They laughed as they talked and reminisced.

 

                                                                ***

 

It was another two days before they left for Harsil.

It was late in the evening by the time they all reached Harsil. And yet, the modest dwelling, the compound around it and even the street were lit up and crowded. The word had spread like wildfire that after a year, Hrishikesh bhaiyya was coming. The tribal people, the farmers and their families had all traveled to see him and lined the streets.

John and Mary alighted from the car, Rosa asleep in Mary’s arms. They looked around wide-eyed as Molly and Mrs Hudson joined them. “You’ve _got_ to be kidding me,” hissed Mary disbelievingly. John whispered, “Bloody hell!”

Akrur’s wife and other women rushed forward to welcome them, Rosa was gently taken from Mary’s arms and taken in the hut to sleep on the soft mattresses they had borrowed. In soft welcoming tones, they took the women inside.

Mycroft, Sherlock, Uddhav and Meera alighted from the second car. Akrur and other men stepped forward. Akrur came forward and hugged Hrishikesh and Sherlock, tears in his humble eyes.

He said in an emotional voice to Sherlock, “You came back. You did not forget us.”

“How could I, Akrur?” Sherlock smiled as he pulled Akrur by his arm, “Akrur, I want you to meet my elder brother, Mycroft. And this is my friend, John.”

Kesh looked at the crowd who was waiting to meet him, standing respectfully with hands folded in namaste. He smiled at them, and turned to Sherlock and Mycroft. “You go ahead. I’ll speak to them and come in.”

Uddhav stepped forward as he ushered them inside, “He’s going to be hours. There’s no point waiting for him. Let us freshen up and have dinner.”

 

                                                                                ***

 

“The stars used to look like this in the sky in Afghanistan,” John sighed wistfully as he looked up at the starlit sky. The men were lying on the soft mattresses outside, under the sky. He turned to Sherlock who lay a few feet away. “This was a great idea, Sherlock.”

“It certainly is novel, I must say,” Mycroft smiled. “And exciting!”

Uddhav bustled around making sure everyone had everything they needed. The women were sleeping inside the house.

“It is summer, so you may not need more blankets but there is a pile I’ve kept in that corner if anyone needs.”

“When’s Kesh going to come?” asked Sherlock.

“You know him, Sherlock.” Uddhav shook his head. “He will sit and talk with them until everyone is satisfied. I think I better go out and drag him in. He still hasn’t had anything to eat. I’ll send them away. I’ll tell them we are here for two whole days, they can talk to him then.”

 

                                                                               ***

 

“Is it weird to enjoy a bath so much in such primitive surroundings?” Molly asked as she again adjusted her bum on the rickety plastic stool.

Molly, Mrs Hudson, Mary and Rosa were enjoying their communal bath. The cool water in the buckets felt good on the warm day.

Mrs Hudson laughed, “Oh no, dear. In my younger days we didn’t have all the conveniences we take for granted now. And it was a much simpler, happier life. No new-fangled gadgets to distract you, no appliances to make you lazy.”

Rosa stood waist deep in the water in her bucket, laughing and splashing water around as she repeatedly hit the bucket, “Yes, yes, yes…” she chorused her agreement.

Mary shook her head and pulled Rosa out of her bucket, “Come on then, missy. All this excitement is turning you loony.”

Meera waddled in, holding her sari high to avoid it getting wet, “Do you need anything?”

“Someone to scrub my back would be good,” Molly joked.

Meera stepped forward eagerly, “I can do that for you, Molly.”

Molly giggled, “I was just kidding, Meera.” She grinned as she looked up at Meera. “All of you have been so great in looking after us….it’s going to be so hard to go back home and work again. All this pampering is getting to my head.”

Meera smiled and said softly, “You all look after Hrishikesh bhaiyya. He looks so happy. All of us would literally do _anything_ in return for you."

                                                                          ***

 

They’d just had brunch and Sherlock decided that they should have a picnic by the riverside. Now they sat under the shade of a large tree as they enjoyed the sounds and sight of the mighty Ganges close by. Tall Himalayan peaks covered in snow surrounded them. A feeling of awe at the beauty of Harsil and joy at having been transported to a very different, magical place prevailed.

Akrur’s wife and Meera came with cups of hot chai tea for everyone. Lunch was still a couple of hours away.

Vedant hovered around Mrs Hudson, as he had since they’d arrived. He bustled around to make sure she was comfortable, getting pillows and chairs and running to town to fetch cold water. She watched, bemused, not quite sure what to make of the plump, jovial man.

 _I’ll be spoilt rotten by the time I go back home_ , she thought.

Mary and Molly were cutting the fruits, fresh watermelon and mangoes that they handed around. Mycroft leaned back on the picnic mat as he looked around, lost in thought. John and Kesh sat and chatted as they sipped their tea. A general atmosphere of lassitude prevailed.

They watched as Sherlock ran in the expanse in front of them, kicking a softball and calling out to the kids; Manjula, Mahesh, Vinod and several other village kids. Rosa ran around on her little legs, chasing Sherlock with abandon. He was laughing as he ran.

Finally John said, “It’s like seeing a different person. I’ve never seen this side of Sherlock.”

“Yes,” Mary nodded her head thoughtfully. “It’s like he has shed all inhibitions ever since we came to India. All barriers down.”

Mrs Hudson nodded, “I think it is India…..or these people. I like what it has done for him, though. It’s like he is somehow freer, lighter....” She smiled, “It’s just wonderful!”

Kesh and Mycroft smiled as they listened.

 

                                                                                ***

 

It was another half an hour by the time Sherlock ran back to the group, sweating freely. He’d scooped Rosa up and handed her back to John.

“Here, John. I’m going for a swim. Anyone want to join me?”

Everyone shook their head, too lazy to move, as he stripped his t-shirt off. He kept his shorts on as he jogged towards the river.

Mary stared at his back as he ran, wide eyed and stunned.

_Bloody hell…..John told me about the scars but I never realized….Oh God, Sherlock, what did they do to you…… what tortures have you been through…. And you never even said anything to us….._

After a few minutes she stood up, towel in hand. “He forgot his towel. I’ll just go and wait for him,” she murmured absently, as she walked towards the river.

She stood by the riverside, wind whipping her dress as she watched Sherlock swim. He noticed her still figure and slowly swam to the edge.

Body gleaming in the sun, he walked slowly towards her, his perceptive eyes searching her face as they took in the tears and raw emotion on her crumpled face. Wordlessly he approached her and allowed her to almost fall into his arms. Bringing his arms around her he kissed her head and murmured gently, “Let it go, Mary. It’s in the past….”

She looked up with glistening eyes, “The things you’ve been through. And we never even thought about it…. I shot you….John punched you….we projected our insecurities onto you….I thought you were intruding on my married life. John resented what he thought was the loss of his place in your life…..so much grief has come from us one way or another. And we never even thought to ask what you had been through….”

He smiled, “It was all necessary. So that we could be here _now._ You and John and I.”

They looked up as John walked slowly towards them, hands in his pocket. Holding Mary with one hand, Sherlock drew him close with the other and kissed his forehead.

They walked back slowly towards the group.

 

                                                                                ***

 

They had just feasted on lunch. Simple, wholesome food on plates made of leaves. They lay strewn around on picnic mats. Rosa lay fast asleep in the middle. Mycroft lay looking up at the swaying leaves of the trees, wondering when he had felt this content. Mrs Hudson and Molly had pillows under their heads, curled up and facing everyone. Mary lay with her head on John’s lap as he stroked her hair. And Kesh leaned back against a rock, with Sherlock sitting in between his bent legs, leaning against his chest.

“I used to come here during summer vacations all the time. Haridas would come with me, and Uddhav joined us for a few days as well,” he reminisced. “My guru was a great man, a wise man. He had a different way of teaching me about things….. mainly stories, simple stories that hid great truths. He would tell me a story and ask me to contemplate on it deeply and then I had to explain to him, what I had understood.”

Mycroft propped his head up and turned to face Kesh, “How interesting. Can you give us an example?”

Kesh thought for a while.

“There was once an old lady who was looking for her lost earring under the street lights outside her house, at night. A man came up to help her search. After several futile minutes, the frustrated man asked the lady, “Where exactly did you lose it” She said, “Oh, inside the house.” The man asked incredulously, “Then why are you searching out here?” She said, “Because there is better light here.”

Mycroft’s eyes shone with understanding, as Sherlock smiled and turned to rub his nose against Kesh’s chest.

“The import of course is this—that this is what most people are doing. They have lost their happiness, their peace from _inside_ of them. But instead of searching for it _where_ they have lost it, they are searching for peace and happiness _outside_ , in the world. The world is shiny, it is so well lit. Whereas the subconscious within, the Self within seems to be dark, unknown, scary. So why search there? So they just keep searching _all_ their life; amongst other people, things, places. And _never_ find that lasting happiness and peace.”

Everyone was silent and thoughtful as they pondered on this.

 

                                                                                ***

 

“What are you reading?” Molly’s cheerful voice asked as she approached Sherlock, who sat leaning back against the huge banyan tree on the first floor terrace.

He smiled and placing a bookmark, he put the book aside. “Just a book from Kesh’s collection. Come, sit with me for a while, Molly.”

She sat next to him, legs tucked under her, hand absently playing with the hem of her dress as they looked into the distant mountains silently. She seemed lost in thought. Sherlock leaned his head back and watched.

She smiled and turned to Sherlock, “This has been just the best thing, Sherlock. I needed this break. And gosh, I’ve loved it. How can I thank you and Kesh for bringing me out here?”

Sherlock smiled indulgently as he drawled, “You’re welcome, Molly.”

She looked wistful, “If I could, I would live here forever. It’s so peaceful.”

Sherlock arched an eyebrow and teased, “Kesh is a good match maker, Molly. Do you want me to ask him to find you a good Indian man?”

She giggled and swatted his hand, “No, silly. I just meant that I have loved this house and Uddhav and Meera and the rest of them…… You were right, Meera and I are alike, we get on like a house on fire.”

Sherlock pulled her closer and tucked her face into his shoulder with his palm. He said softly, “I know. Molly, you can come here whenever you like, as often as you like. The house is usually empty unless Kesh’s staff come to Rudraprayag. Or if you like you can stay with Uddhav and Meera…..You will always be welcomed by them.”

Molly smiled against his shoulder, “I know.”

He turned his head slightly and kissed her forehead. They sat out on the terrace watching the sunset together.

 

                                                                                ***

 

“Sherlock,” Mrs Hudson called out as she peaked into the bedroom.

“Mmm….” he said as he looked up from his computer.

“Sherlock, I can’t close my suitcase,” Mrs Hudson complained, wringing her hands. “Can you help me?”

They walked to the bedroom where Mrs Hudson and Molly slept. As Sherlock struggled to close the bulging case, Mrs Hudson explained, “We went out shopping with Vedant and Sonali yesterday…. And I’m afraid I bought too much. It was all so pretty and _so_ cheap. I bought several kurtis and salwar kameezes and gosh, Sherlock….they had such lovely colourful bangles and this beautiful bangle stand…. And then those people at Harsil had the most delicious sweet mango pickle they gave me….And I bought this appliance that makes the rotis, it squishes the dough into a roti shape…. I know Kesh misses home cooked food, and I’ve been learning how to make curries and dal for him….”

Sherlock listened with half a ear as she prattled on, working hard to push things inside the suitcase somehow.

Finally he gave up and said in an exasperated tone, “Mrs Hudson, Kesh and I have travelled light. Do you want to leave some things that we could bring along when we come back?” He shook his head in warning, “Anything except the pickles. I am _not_ putting that in my suitcase. If it leaks, all my clothes will be ruined.”

“Okay….I’ll leave some of the clothes and the bangles then.”

“Fine,” he nodded.

He looked up at her and smiled ruefully, “Sorry, Mrs Hudson. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

She waved dismissively, “Oh don’t worry about that.” She looked up, “It’s just been the most marvelous trip hasn’t it, Sherlock? I can't believe where the time has gone!” Her eyes shone as she added, “I don’t ever want to leave. I’ve been pampered to within an inch of my life over here. Everyone is so kind, so caring. And it is obvious they all love you and Kesh…..if it weren’t for you two boys, I would settle in and refuse to leave.” She laughed.

Sherlock came up to her and hugged her fondly, “You can come here anytime you like, Mrs Hudson. Come back with us, when we come next in a few months.”

 

                                                                                ***

 

It was late in the afternoon. Sherlock and Mycroft had climbed to the highest point in Rudraprayag from where they could see the entire town and the river below. They sat on the ground, over fallen leaves and sparse grass, knees bent, forearms resting on their knees. Both stared at the river and town, lost in their own thoughts.

Birds chirped and flew everywhere as they got ready for the end of the day. It was cloudy and a cool breeze ruffled their hair.

Sherlock leaned sideways and rested his head on Mycroft’s shoulder and sighed. He murmured in a musing tone, as he thought aloud his disjointed thoughts, confident in the knowledge that he was with one of the two people in the world who would understand.

“So much has happened in the past few years…I sometimes think about it and somehow everything was worth it because it finally ended in being with Kesh. Every lash of the whip, every time they beat me, every cut from their knife, every drop of blood, every cold night spent shivering on the street, every day spent away from home, every tear of despair and frustration I shed over John….it was all worth it. If I had to do it again, I would gladly accept it all again, and more…if I get to be with Kesh in the end….. I feel thankful for it all, for all the pain I needed to go through, because I am with Kesh now….without it, I may never have met him…..I don’t think I even knew what happiness can feel like until now….…is it crazy, being thankful for such pain?”

Mycroft raised his arm and gently cupped Sherlock’s cheek, pressing him closer, “No, it isn’t”

Sherlock snuggled closer to his brother.

 

                                                                                ***

 

It was the day before everyone was leaving India.

The leaves and pebbles crackled and crunched under their shoes as Mycroft and John walked. They had taken off for an evening stroll and had walked for more than an hour. They talked occasionally in low murmurs but were mostly silent, enjoying the gentle evening breeze. Dusk was setting in as they enjoyed the dying rays of the beautiful sunset.

As they neared a clearing by edge of the hill, they halted.

Under a large banyan tree Kesh sat on a rounded high rock, his legs spread. He was looking down at Sherlock who sat cross legged on the ground between Kesh’s legs. He seemed to be listening intently to Kesh, his upturned face looking up at Kesh.

 _Like a flower turns towards the sun as it blooms_ , thought Mycroft.

Mycroft and John stood and watched in silence.

Kesh’s hand stroked Sherlock’s head gently. Sherlock chuckled as Kesh bent down to rub noses with him. Kesh drew back to listen quietly to whatever Sherlock was saying. And then they were both laughing, heads thrown back in abandon. After a few seconds, Kesh bent forward to kiss Sherlock’s forehead, his smile full of love and adoration.

Mycroft blinked back sudden tears of joy. He murmured, “People fall in love, John. This is what _rising_ in love looks like. Together they are like a holy union of staggering intellect and life-altering wisdom.”

John nodded and smiled, “They _do_ look good together, don’t they?”

They stood silently for a few more moments.

Finally, Mycroft said softly, “John, a long time ago, I told you this— _My brother has the mind of a scientist or a philosopher. What might we deduce about his heart_ ……At that time, I had no answer to give you.”

He glanced briefly at John and then inclined his head towards the two seated men.

“I _do_ know now. There he is, _his heart_ ….his Kesh.”

They watched as Kesh pulled Sherlock closer and holding his head between his hands, he bent down to kiss Sherlock.

John suggested gently, “Maybe we could walk a bit more?”

Mycroft chuckled, “Yes, perhaps we should.”

They turned away leaving Sherlock alone with his Hrishikesh.

 

                                                                _Aum Tat Sat. Iti. (The End)_

 

                                                                                ***

 

 **To the readers of Moksha- my humble Namaste**                                                         

 

 

This is my first and likely only story. After 125000+ words and four months of my life devoted to this effort, I feel compelled to say a few words to explain Moksha.

First though, I would like to express my deep gratitude and love to calderonbeta. When Moksha was three chapters old and barely anyone was reading it, I wanted to give up. The story was already in glorious technicolour in my head. The effort to put it on paper seemed daunting and futile. She has stood by me with her comments from the first chapter onwards and it is her gentle sensible encouragement that allowed Moksha to continue. Moksha belongs to her as much as it does to me.

Second, I thank each and every one who left kudos and bookmarks and commented at one time or another, especially those that commented often. Your words gave me joy, spurred me to write and are worth their weight in gold to me.

You, the reader undoubtedly read many fan-fiction stories. When you like something, tell the author! Leave a kudo, a bookmark, a comment, something tangible to reach across cyberspace to let the author know that you enjoyed the fruits of their labour. Be generous in your words of acknowledgement, be kind. The writers are not earning any money, the only currency they get paid in are your words of appreciation!

For those who read Moksha as a love story\- I have this to say

Season 3 made me sad. Some of the fan-fiction after Season 3 made me sad. I got tired of seeing the dignity of a great character be violated repeatedly. Sherlock Holmes is a great man, a great character…..Great men do _not_ react the way we ordinary people do.

I set out to write a story that honoured and appreciated the character of Sherlock. A story where he found happiness and inner peace. A story in which he was cherished and treasured by someone worthy of being his life partner. All the while I strove hard to maintain the dignity of all the other characters. I hope I have succeeded, I hope you are satisfied with the outcome. I hope that you found _my_ Kesh worthy in some measure of _our_ Sherlock.

For those who read Moksha with introspective and/or spiritual goggles on

If you have read closely, especially if you have read the chapter titles, you may have realized this—Moksha is an _allegory of a spiritual journey_ , told from the perspective of a spiritual seeker. I would like to explain; I will use the first person so that I do not sound like I am preaching. The aim has _never_ been to preach, only to share.

If you find the explanation below intriguing, I urge you to reread Moksha from this standpoint. Chances are you may find that you are reading a different story. That some of the things that Sherlock and Kesh say to each other may take on a different significance.

When I hit rock bottom in life, reach a nadir, _one_ option always available to me is to go to Kesh. Kesh is not a person in India or anywhere else. He is inside me, the one who upholds and integrates me, my ever present friend and guide, my Higher Self. (chap 1-3)

He is called by many names— _The Truth/ The Absolute/ Inner Self/ Higher Self/ Spirit/ Soul/ Divinity/ Totality/ God._ Take your pick depending on your inclination. But he lives in ALL of us.

He looks after me at all times. But I am not ready to acknowledge him. When I do chose of my own volition to go to him, my life changes. He guides me, he teaches me, he holds my hand and elevates me to a higher perspective. I learn, I enjoy, I _feast_ on this new found fountain of joy within me. (chap 4-12)

But a doubt niggles at the back of my brain. I am not ready to let go of the world. I make a tragic, fundamental error. I think it is the world versus the Higher Self. That it can _only_ be one or the other. I feel the inner Kesh may not be enough, the attractive world beckons. I am torn about which one to choose.(chap 13-14)

Sometimes, it takes more than one tragedy for me to finally have my epiphany. When I am at risk of losing this fountain of joy, my Higher Self. I realize that the world never gave me lasting joy, lasting peace. By its very nature, impermanent, ever changing, it is _impossible_ for it to give me this. That I was a fool to even consider turning away from my inner Kesh. That I love him. Much as he is mine _, I AM HIS_. I then submit to my inner Kesh with my full love and trust. The minute this submission happens, my life is transformed. (chap 15-18)

As soon as I stop grabbing at the world and hold on to my Higher Self instead, the universe comes within my reach. I can now live and enjoy the world, while keeping my gaze firmly on my Higher Self. The world is full of rings. One by one I straighten my hooks. With every hook I straighten, I feel lighter, freer. I enjoy everything, I miss out on _nothing_ and I am happier than ever before because my joy comes from my Inner Self, not the impermanent outside world. The difficulties of mundane life come and go. The mind can become happy or sad. But the essence of me is not affected, because it is protected _fiercely_ from all sides by my inner Kesh. (chap 19-25)

I am an ordinary person, if I can do it you can do it too. _Go on, look within_. Acknowledge your Inner Self, _call_ out to him. _This_ is true Yoga, not the exercises that people do. If by some good fortune you strike a nadir in life, give your Higher Self a chance. He is waiting more eagerly than my Kesh waited for Sherlock. One thing I promise you, he loves you _exponentially_ more than Kesh loved Sherlock.

Moksha begins with the word “Sherlock” and ends with the word “Hrishikesh”—ultimately that is what the journey is--- Sherlock reaching his Kesh. And in our allegory, Me reaching my Higher Self.

No, Sherlock Holmes did _not_ gain Moksha at the end of the story. The point where the seeker and the sought become one (or more accurately where the seeker realizes that he was always seeking HIMSELF, his Higher Self), the point of complete freedom. He has his Kesh with him though, he is moving towards it. Besides, I had only promised the _journey,_ not the destination (read the blurb)

The universe is very clever. It would never burden any of us with sudden enlightenment. Our feeble minds could not cope with it……

This then was Moksha……

                                                                                                ***

On a _personal_ note, I feel that if I am destined to write only one story, I am glad it was Moksha. It has given me great joy, great satisfaction. If I were a better wordsmith maybe I could have written it better. But I wrote with all my heart and integrity and that satisfies me.

Inadvertently, almost as a side effect, I seem to have given you, the reader, a _small_ introduction to my country; her people, her customs, her staggeringly vast and profound culture. I hope you think of India fondly :)

If you have any questions or comments, they are welcome either through this forum or on my email id – [sherlockfan221@gmail.com](mailto:sherlockfan221@gmail.com)

Some of the teachings contained in Moksha are taken from ancient Indian texts called the _Upanishads_ (Chapter 4- _Brihadaranyaka_ Upanishad; Chapter 10- _Chhandogya_ Upanishad; Chapter 11- _Ishavasya_ Upanishad) May the ancient sages forgive me for having drastically simplified their lofty and complex thoughts for ease of comprehension and for using them in fan-fiction. The aim was always to share- with reverence, with humility, with love….

However, the bulk of the philosophy and the essence of the story arc of Moksha, is based on a fraction of the sublime teachings in the _Bhagavad Gita_. All errors in interpretation are mine alone. The Gita is _perfection_.

I therefore, place Moksha with _all_ my love and _all_ my devotion at the feet of the one who sat in front of me with a smile as I wrote every word…. The singer of the Gita…. _MY_ _Hrishikesh_.

 


	26. Prapatti -- Submission

It has been just over a year since I posted the last chapter in Moksha.

This is a note to inform those who have stayed subscribed, as well as the new readers of Moksha that just recently I finished posting a new story on AO3- called “CULMINATION” under a different pseudonym- quantum221b.

 

[Culmination](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5216297/chapters/12026669)

 

It is a Dom/sub story with Dom Sherlock, Sub John (check out the tags).

And from a spiritual allegory point of view, it could be considered a sister story to Moksha. Although it is a vastly different story, given that it is based on an AU-BDSM world and hence has heaps more smut--- it is based from our allegory point of view on the **Yoga of Submission- to the Absolute.**

You see, after I finished Moksha I remained unsatisfied for some time because in Moksha I explored the Yoga of Action, Yoga of Devotion, Yoga of Knowledge and Yoga of Meditation. The Yoga of Submission is yet another Yoga described in the Bhagavad Gita, in fact it is interwoven throughout its verses and hence it is very important. The story idea for Culmination popped into my head and I surged on with it. 

This is just FYI—in case you decide to give it a go. Either as a D/s Sherlock story or to further explore the principles of Yoga of Submission to the Higher Self.

 

Also I would like to share a lovely rendition of some of the verses in Chapter 12 of the Gita. They describe the qualities of the **IDEAL MAN/ IDEAL DEVOTEE (BHAKTA) of Totality** / The Absolute/ God (NOT any specific personal God—the entire Gita is _Totality talking to Individuality_ —do not think this has anything to do with religion)

It is about 3 minutes long. The first 2 minutes are the soulful Sanskrit verses. Then there is one minute of the English translation. It became too tedious to load the audio file, so I’ve actually loaded it on Youtube. The link is below----

 

[Bhagavad Gita Chapter 12](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eUXaHI0ezQU)

 

Also a _transcript o_ f the English translation for those interested-----

_My beloved Bhakta,_

            He who hates none; Who is a friend of all

            Who is merciful to all; Who has nothing of his own

            Who is free from egoticism

            Who is even minded in pain and pleasure

            Who is forbearing; Who is always satisfied

            Who is ever devoted to Yoga

            Whose self has become controlled; Whose will is firm

            Whose mind and intellect are given unto me

_Such a one is my beloved Bhakta_

            He from who comes no disturbance, who cannot be disturbed by others

            Who is free from joy, fear and anxiety

_Such a one is my beloved_

            He who does not depend on anything, who is pure and active

            Who does not care whether good comes or evil, and never becomes miserable

            Who has given up all efforts for himself

            Same in praise and blame, silent and thoughtful

            Homeless; having the whole world for his home

            And steady in his mind

_Such a one is my beloved Bhakta_

                                    _Bhagavad Gita_

 


End file.
